Edward Marston - The excursion train

It was all that the girl needed to hear. Mumbling an excuse, she closed the door and went hurriedly back upstairs. Winifred felt impelled to offer an explanation.

'You'll have to forgive her,' she said. 'Emily still can't believe that it all happened. It's changed her completely. She hasn't been out of here since the day of the execution.'

Victor Leeming was dreaming about his wedding day when he heard a distant knock. The door of the church swung open but, instead of his bride, it was a plump young woman with a wooden tray who came down the aisle towards him.

'Excuse me, sir,' she said, boldly.

'What?'

Leeming came awake and realised that he was lying fully clothed on the bed in his room at the Saracen's Head. The plump young woman was standing inside the doorway, holding a tray and staring at his bruised face with utter fascination.

'Did you hurt yourself, sir?' she asked.

'I had an accident,' he replied, leaping off the bed to stand up.

'What sort of accident?'

'It doesn't matter.'

'It would to me if I had injuries like that.'

'Who are you and what do you want?'

'My name is Mary, sir,' she said with a friendly smile, 'and I work here at the Saracen's Head. The other gentleman told me to wake you with a cup of tea at eleven o'clock and give you this letter.' She put the tray on the bedside table. 'There you are, sir.'

As she brushed his arm, he stepped back guiltily as if he had just been caught in an act of infidelity. It was a paradox. As a policeman in earlier days, Leeming had been used to patrolling areas of London that were infested with street prostitutes yet he was embarrassed to be alone in a room with a female servant. Mary continued to stare at him.

'Thank you,' he said. 'You can go now.'

'I don't believe it was an accident.'

'Goodbye, Mary.'

'Did it hurt, sir?'

'Goodbye.'

Ushering her out, he closed the door and slipped the bolt into place. Then he stirred some sugar into the tea and took a welcome sip. A clock was chiming nearby and his pocket watch confirmed that it was exactly eleven o'clock, meaning that he had slept for over two hours. Grateful to Colbeck for permitting him a rest, he opened the envelope on the tray and read his instructions, written in the neat hand that he knew so well. Leeming was not pleased by his orders but he seized on one benefit.

'At least, I don't have to go there by train!' he said.

Ashford was the home of the South Eastern Railway Company's main works, a fact that gave the town more kudos while inflicting a perpetual clamour upon it during working hours. The construction of a locomotive was not something that could be done quietly and the clang of industry had now become as familiar, if not as euphonious, as the tolling of a church bell. Robert Colbeck was delighted with an excuse to visit the works and he spent some time talking to the superintendent about the locomotives and rolling stock that were built there. To find the man he was after, Colbeck had to go to the boiler shop, the noisiest part of the factory, a place of unremitting tumult as chains were used to manoeuvre heavy pieces of iron, hammers pounded relentlessly and sparks flew.

Gregory Newman was helping to lift a section of a boiler into position. He was a big man in his forties with a mop of dark hair and a full beard that was flecked with dirt. He used a sinewy forearm to wipe the sweat from his brow. Colbeck waited until he had finished the job in hand before he introduced himself, detached Newman from the others and took him outside. The boilerman was astonished by the arrival of a detective from Scotland Yard, especially one as refined and well dressed as Colbeck. He took a moment to weigh up the newcomer.

'How can you work in that din?' asked Colbeck.

'I was born and brought up in a forge,' said Newman, 'so I've lived with noise all my life. Not like some of the others. Three of the men in the boiler shop have gone stone deaf.'

'I'm not surprised.'

'They should have stuffed something in their ears.'

Newman had a ready grin and an affable manner, the fruit of a lifetime of chatting to customers while they waited for their horses to be shod or for him to perform some other task in his forge. Colbeck warmed to the man at once.

'Why did you stop being a blacksmith?' he said.

'This job pays me better,' replied the other, 'and locomotives don't kick as hard as horses. But that's not the real reason, Inspector. I used to hate trains at first but they've grown on me.'

'They're the face of the future, Mr Newman.'

'That's what I feel.'

'Though there'll always be a call for a good blacksmith.'

'Well, I won't hear it – not with all that hullabaloo in the boiler shop. It's a world of its own in there.' His grin slowly faded. 'But you didn't come all the way here from London to hear me tell you that. This is about Nathan, isn't it?'

'Yes, Mr Newman. I've just spoken with his wife.'

'How is Win?'

'Holding up much better than I dared to expect,' said Colbeck. 'Mrs Hawkshaw was very helpful. The same, alas, could not be said of her stepson. He doesn't have much respect for the law.'

'How could he after what happened?'

'Was he always so truculent?'

'Adam is a restless lad,' explained Newman, 'and he likes his own way. When he lived at home, he and Nathan used to argue all the time so I found him a room near the Corn Exchange. There's no real harm in Adam but he won't let anyone push him around.'

'How does he get on with his stepmother?'

'Not too well. Win is a good woman. She's done all she could for him but he was just too much of a handful for her. Then, of course, there was the problem with Emily.'

'Oh?'

'Adam was always teasing her. I'm sure it was only meant in fun,' said Newman, defensively, 'but I think it went too far sometimes. Emily's scared of him. It wasn't good for them to be sleeping under the same roof. They've nothing in common.'

'They share the same father, don't they?'

'No, Inspector. Emily is not Nathan's daughter.'

'I assumed that she was.'

'Win's first husband was killed in a fire,' said Newman, sadly, 'and she was left to bring up a tiny baby on her own. She and Nathan didn't get married until a year later. His wife had died of smallpox so he had a child on his hands as well – Adam.'

'I'm told that you were close to the Hawkshaws.'

'We've been friends for years.'

'Was it a happy marriage?'

'Very happy,' returned the other, as if offended by the query. 'You can see that from the way that Win fought for his release. She was devoted to her husband.'

'But you ran the campaign on his behalf.'

'It was the least I could do, Inspector. Nathan and I grew up together in Ashford. We went to school, fished in the Stour, had our first pipe of tobacco together.' He smiled nostalgically. 'We were only twelve at the time and as sick as dogs.'

'Was Mr Hawkshaw a powerful man?'

'Stronger than me.'

'Strong enough to hack a man to death, then?' asked Colbeck, springing the question on him to gauge his reaction.

'Nathan didn't kill Joe Dykes,' asserted the other.

'Then who did?'

'Go into any pub in the town and you'll find a dozen suspects in each one. Joe Dykes was a menace. Nobody had a good word for him. If he wasn't getting drunk and picking a fight, he was stealing something or pestering a woman.'

'From what I heard, he did more than pester Emily Hawkshaw.'

'Yes,' said Newman, grimly. 'That was what really upset Nathan. The girl is barely sixteen.'

'I met her briefly earlier on.'

'Then you'll have seen how meek and defenceless she is. Emily is still a child in some ways. She was running an errand for her mother when Joe Dykes cornered her in a lane. The sight of a pretty face was all he needed to rouse him. He grabbed Emily, pinned her against a wall and tore her skirt as he tried to lift it.'