Andrew Martin - Death on a Branch line

‘Master Hugh,’ he said. ‘Mam’s been writing to him.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘And what does she put?’

‘She’ll generally just ask him: “Are you going on all right?”’

‘And what does he reply, Mervyn?’ asked the wife.

‘He’ll generally put: “All right just now. Thanks for asking.”’

‘But he’s about to be executed,’ I said.

‘That’s why he puts “all right just now ”,’ said Mervyn. ‘All right for the present.’

That doubtful look came over him again, as if he wondered whether he ought to have spoken out at all. Mrs Handley came out with the food, a jug of aerated water and two glasses on a tin tray.

‘Do you suppose they’ll pray over Master Hugh in the church tomorrow?’ Lydia asked.

‘Well, that’s not our church, so I wouldn’t know. We’re Catholic, and the nearest church for us is St Joseph’s, out at East Adenwold, which is a bit of a way.’

I had the idea that this was a highly convenient state of affairs as far as Mrs Handley was concerned.

‘… But I shouldn’t think so,’ she ran on. ‘Not if the vicar has anything to do with it.’

‘Did he not like Master Hugh?’ the wife asked.

‘He liked the Major,’ said Mrs Handley. ‘The two of them got on thoroughly, and he would always take his part in Sir George’s arguments with the boy. Ridley would ride out with Sir George every morning, hunt with him as well.’

‘What’s become of the hunt?’ I asked.

‘Stopped,’ said Mrs Handley. ‘It was the vicar himself led all the hounds down to the station, where they were packed into a van and taken to some chap in Lincolnshire.’

‘What did you think of him?’ I couldn’t resist asking. ‘The vicar, I mean?’

She folded her arms and eyed me.

‘He wouldn’t last long in a Catholic church, I’ll tell you that much.’

‘Why not?’ the wife cut in.

‘He’s hardly ever at home. He’s always running about the place.’

‘Doing what?’ asked the wife.

There was a beat of silence.

‘He has a lady at Barton-le-Street.’

‘A lady?’ said the wife.

‘Well,’ said Mrs Handley, ‘a woman. And she’s thought to be one of a few. “Live and enjoy” — that’s his motto.’

You’d take a ‘down’ train to get to Barton, and the vicar had done just that the night before. He’d returned this morning by an ‘up’. Was this fancy woman the explanation for his journey? It did not seem possible to pursue this subject with two women present, and so I fell silent.

‘The new tenant at the Hall…’ the wife began.

‘… Robert Chandler,’ Mrs Handley supplied.

‘Yes,’ said the wife. ‘Is he there at the moment?’

Mrs Handley nodded. ‘He’s been here all summer.’

‘Do you think he shot Sir George really?’ the wife asked, and she laughed after she’d said it, just as though it was a joke, which I didn’t think it had been.

‘I’m quite sure he didn’t,’ said Mrs Handley. ‘I believe he was out in India at the time of the shooting. He certainly wasn’t here, anyhow. And how would he know that John would want him to take it over? Besides, it’s not as if he wants it. He’s only come in as a favour to John.’

It seemed that nobody wanted the Hall, or the running of the estate. ‘Master Hugh was found in the woods,’ Mrs Handley ran on. ‘He had the gun in his hand which was later shown to be the murder weapon, and his father was dead at his feet.’

‘He pleaded not guilty, though,’ I said.

‘Well, wouldn’t you?’ said Mrs Handley.

Her line, then, was that she liked Master Hugh, but was in no doubt that he had done the killing. She might perhaps have approved of his having done it.

‘Happen the new man will give you the farm back?’ I said, and Mrs Handley gave me a very choice look at that, eyes fairly burning into me. At the end of the table, Mervyn had started scuffling with his dog Alfred. He didn’t want to hear any more about Master Hugh.

Mrs Handley shook her head once, saying, ‘That’s gone.’

‘The fellow that came upon him,’ I said, ‘Anderson, Constable for the Adenwolds. Where does he live?’

‘Retired to the city,’ she said.

‘Which city?’

‘York,’ said Mrs Handley. ‘Where do you think?’

It struck me again that she thought me an idiot.

‘Who’s the new copper?’

‘Don’t recall his name,’ she said. ‘We hardly ever set eyes on him. He lives out at East Adenwold.’

The fellow might as well have lived on the moon.

Mrs Handley had gone back to apple-peeling, and Mervyn was walking away up the dusty road with his dog and his gun. Watch out, rabbits, I thought. The wife rose from her seat to call out after him: ‘Bye, Mervyn!’

She missed our lad Harry, and she’d taken to Mervyn in his place.

She said, ‘I’m off up for a bath,’ and she went inside the inn.

She was in a strange mood — torn: half-friendly, half not; half wanting me to be investigating the Adenwold mysteries, half not. Above all, she was annoyed at the arrival of the Chief, for it reminded her that I was not the top man even in the York railway police.

Had the heat got to her? Not a bit of it. She was always agitated — feverish, so to say, even at the best of times. It was just womanliness and you couldn’t cure that with a cold bath.

A single breath of breeze shifted the wisteria growing on the inn front, like a summer sigh. The shadow of a branch waved over the table and became strange when it struck the aerated water. Mr Handley, standing in the pub doorway, boomed out something that might have been ‘You’ve had a long chat out here,’ followed by the question: ‘Don’t appeal?’ or ‘No appeal?’ and I somehow had the idea he was talking about the water. I was never a great one for water, aerated or otherwise, and I took this to be an invitation to take a pint, at which I said, ‘I’d quite fancy a glass of Smith’s, thanks,’ but no sooner had I said it than it occurred to me that he had meant Master Hugh had not appealed against the verdict of guilty and sentence of death.

I stepped through into the public bar after Mr Handley, and the place was empty except for the bloody bicyclist, reading a book. I nodded to him, and said, ‘I see your bike’s gone. Still jiggered, is it?’

‘Took it up to the blacksmith,’ he said, only half looking up from his book. ‘Chap called Ainsty, but he wasn’t about. He’s off fixing some motor, apparently.’

Well, here was more data for the wife, fascinated as she was by the movements of the bicyclist.

The bar smelt of wood and wisteria. All the windows were propped open. On one side they gave onto the golden cornfields and The Angel garden; to the other, they looked onto the trestle table, the dusty lane and the woods.

Mr Handley was at the barrel of Smith’s pouring me a pint, and one for himself. He boomed out a remark in his habitual blurred manner, and I could not understand. I asked him, as politely as I could, to repeat it, and it was hard to keep in countenance as he made the same baffling noise again. I looked over to the bicyclist for help, and sure enough he looked up from his book and reported with a sigh:

‘He says, “There are as many crimes committed high as low.”’

I nodded at Mr Handley, and said, ‘You’re right over that,’ although I was thinking of the constant succession of working men I’d given evidence against in the York police court. You hardly ever saw a toff before the magistrates.

‘Mr Handley,’ I said, ‘did Sir George Lambert have any military connection?’

Mr Handley shook his head as he raised his glass to his lips. He then touched the glass to his lips, and half the beer went down in an instant. I raised my own glass and tried the same, but I didn’t have the trick of it, and my glass went down by just two inches and I nearly choked. To cover up the embarrassment, I said, ‘Does the pub pay?’