Edward Marston - Railway to the Grave

Evidently, Tarleton had been a collector. Colbeck counted four sabres, six pikes, eight daggers of varying sizes and an assortment of clubs, maces and axes. There were even suits of armour and a lance. What they were standing in the middle of was a history of warfare.

‘I don’t like seeing all this,’ admitted Mrs Withers, eyeing a spiked iron ball on the end of a chain, ‘but I was the only member of the staff allowed in here because the colonel wanted it kept clean and tidy. I didn’t touch the guns, of course. They’re under lock and key.’

‘That was his favourite,’ said Tallis, pointing at a shotgun in the cabinet. ‘You can see his initials carved into the stock. It was made by James Purdey himself. The duelling pistols were the work of Joseph Manton, who perfected the percussion cap principle. Gunsmiths worldwide owe a real debt to Manton.’

‘James Purdey is one of them,’ noted Colbeck. ‘He learnt his trade under Manton.’ Looking around, he took a swift inventory. ‘The contents of this room are worth a pretty penny.’

‘He built up the collection over many years,’ said Tallis.

‘It’s a real museum.’

‘Well, it won’t stay like this,’ said Mrs Withers. ‘Neither of the children has the slightest interest in guns and swords. Whoever inherits the house will want to get rid of these things.’

Tallis shook his head. ‘They won’t be able to do that.’

‘Oh?’

‘Inspector Colbeck will explain. He’s well versed in the law. Before he joined the police force he was a barrister.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ said Colbeck. ‘The law regarding suicide – or felo de se – is very specific. In taking his own life, Colonel Tarleton has dispossessed his children to some extent. Under the terms of a statute of 1823, his goods and chattels are forfeit to the Crown.’

‘That’s cruel!’ she cried.

‘It’s the law, as it stands, Mrs Withers.’

‘I’ve never heard that before.’

‘You’ve probably never heard of someone committing suicide before either,’ said Colbeck.

‘No, sir, that’s true.’

‘Fortunately, it’s a rare occurrence. As for the way the colonel took his own life, it was unique.’

Mrs Withers was aghast. ‘Are you telling me that the children will get nothing?’

‘They’ll retain the land. It’s only the goods and chattels that are forfeit and they, alas,’ he said with a gesture to take in the whole room, ‘include everything in here.’

‘I had no idea of any of this,’ said the housekeeper, quivering all over. ‘I’d hoped that one of the children would take over the house and that we’d carry on as before. The colonel promised me that I had a job for life. This has been my only real home. I’d hoped that I could stay.’

Fearing for her future, she suddenly burst into tears and rushed out of the room. When Colbeck tried to go after her, he was restrained by the firm hand of Tallis.

‘Let her go, Inspector.’

‘I wanted to console her,’ said Colbeck.

‘When all is said and done, Mrs Withers is of no consequence. She’s only a servant. We can forget about her.’

‘That’s rather harsh, sir.’

‘I’m being practical. As for the children, there’s something you should know. Colonel Tarleton was not their father. When he married her, his wife was a widow with two young children – a boy and a girl. He brought them up as his own and they took his surname.’

‘I see.’

‘The son, I regret to say, is something of a wastrel. He was still single when I last heard of him. The daughter, Eve, is married and has been more of a credit in every way. She’ll be absolutely horrified at the turn of events – as am I,’ said Tallis, soulfully. ‘The colonel was my friend but I can’t condone his suicide. In my view, it’s a sin as well as a crime. It always appals me.’

Colbeck remembered how distressed Tallis had been by the suicide of Leonard Voke, a silversmith they’d encountered during another investigation. The superintendent had no personal connection with the man yet had been badly shaken when he heard that Voke had shot himself. The fact that a friend of his had now committed suicide – and done so in the most extraordinary manner – disturbed Tallis at a deep level. He was still dazed by the news. Colbeck tried to offer the consolation that he’d intended to give to the housekeeper.

‘All may not yet be lost, sir,’ he said.

‘What are you talking about?’ grunted Tallis.

‘Colonel Tarleton’s earthly possessions. They will only be forfeit to the Crown if the inquest rules that he took his life while of sound mind. The technical conditions of murder apply to suicide, namely, if a person commits any unlawful, malicious act, the consequences of which is his or her own death, then that person must be deemed to be a self-murderer. That’s what felo de se means.’

‘I know that, man.’

‘Then you must also know that the law permits the deceased some leeway. If it can be shown that someone committed suicide while the balance of his mind was disturbed, then he will be considered to have been insane and therefore not responsible for his actions. That being the case, nothing will be surrendered to the Crown. Don’t you see, sir?’ asked Colbeck. ‘That may well be the outcome here.’

Tallis was outraged. ‘Aubrey Tarleton was not insane.’

‘Look at the facts, Superintendent.’

‘The only fact that interests me is that I knew this man for almost thirty years. As a soldier and as a friend, he was above reproach. He was the sanest man I ever met in my whole life.’

‘That may have been so,’ said Colbeck, ‘but I ask you to gaze around this room. A man could choose dozens of different weapons with which to kill himself here, yet Colonel Tarleton preferred to walk along a railway line in the path of an oncoming train. Does that sound like the action of someone in full possession of his faculties?’

‘How dare you even suggest it?’ howled Tallis, caught on the raw. ‘You’re talking about someone you never met.’ He reached into his pocket for an envelope. ‘You read the letter he sent me. Did that sound like the ravings of a lunatic?’

‘No, Superintendent, it was a sad but rather dignified letter.’

‘You heard the housekeeper. She noticed nothing unusual in her employer’s behaviour. Even under the intense stress of losing his wife, he bore up well and showed the resilience that I’d seen him display on the field of combat. He was a man of iron self-control. Frankly,’ said Tallis, ‘I deplore what he did but he conceived and followed a definite plan. That was the action of a sane man.’

‘Then I must beg to differ.’

‘You can do what you like, Colbeck. But don’t you dare have the audacity to say in my hearing that Colonel Tarleton was of unsound mind. That’s a slur on his character that I simply won’t permit.’

Tallis spent most of his life in a state of permanent ire but his fury had reached a new and more dangerous pitch. Colbeck was tactful. He tried to reduce the intensity of the superintendent’s rage.

‘I defer to your superior knowledge of the gentleman,’ he said with a note of apology. ‘It’s not my place to form a judgement of him. That must be left to the inquest. I’d rather turn my attention to the event that provoked his suicide. Foul play must be suspected and that leaves us with one question – what happened to his wife?’

It fell to Victor Leeming to be the first to make the acquaintance of Eric Hepworth. Entering the Black Bull in search of his colleagues, Leeming was immediately confronted by the imposing figure of the railway policeman. Sergeant Hepworth was in uniform, his long black coat patently worn with pride, his boots gleaming. The low ceiling had obliged him to remove his top hat, revealing a large head that was rapidly balding. As if to counter the dramatic loss of hair, he’d grown a thick, dark beard out of which came a deep, accusatory voice.