Edward Marston - The Silver Locomotive mystery

'I daresay that's also true of you – may I know your name?'

'Of course, sir – it's Laura Tremaine.'

'I hope I have the chance to see you perform, Miss Tremaine. But let me give you a warning,' he went on, looking around. 'Light will start to fade before too long. It's not wise for an unaccompanied young lady to be on the streets. Cardiff is not short of public houses, as you can see. I'd hate to think of your being harassed by drunkards.'

'There's no danger of that,' she said, chirpily. 'I'm called for a rehearsal quite soon. Besides, I'm not alone. Duncan and the Porter are keeping watch on me.' She indicated the figure of a stout, stooping, middle-aged man some thirty yards away. That's Sydney Hobbs. He plays both parts. In a small company like ours, we have a lot of doubling. Mr Buckmaster says that it's good experience for us.'

Laura Tremaine had the burning conviction of a true Thespian. Colbeck felt a pang of sympathy for her. Not for the first time, he thought how gruelling the life of a touring actress must be. Laura would be constantly on the move, going from place to place in search of an audience, travelling cheaply, eating poorly, staying in drab accommodation, living on a pittance and paying for her brief moments of glory on stage by doing such mundane chores as handing out playbills to passing strangers and running the risk of molestation.

She seemed to read his mind. 'Do not worry about me, sir,' she said, happily. 'I would gladly suffer all the indignities that the world can subject me to for the privilege of working with Mr Buckmaster.'

Colbeck was touched by her blazing sincerity. 'He is evidently a remarkable man,' he said. 'I look forward to meeting him.'

The Theatre Royal had been opened almost thirty years earlier by interested parties who formed a joint-stock company. What they got for their investment was a neat, rectangular structure with a Gothic facade whose plethora of arched windows gave it an inappropriately ecclesiastical air. Striking in appearance, it was not, however, known for its comfort and its interior lacked the sheer scope, luxury and embellishment of London theatres. Nigel Buckmaster made light of its deficiencies, confident that the brilliance of his performance would divert the minds of any audience from the hardness of the seats. He was reeling off some instructions to his stage manager when he was interrupted by Robert Colbeck. Hearing why the inspector had come, he immediately conducted him to the main dressing room at the rear of the stage.

Gas lighting gave the room a garish glow and created shifting patterns in the mirrors. Colbeck noticed that the actor's costume for Macbeth was already hanging up. A dirk and claymore lay on the table beside a large make-up box. Buckmaster waved him to a seat but remained standing in a position where the best of the light fell upon his face.

'I'd hoped to speak to Miss Linnane as well,' said Colbeck, 'but I was told that she was indisposed.'

'This hideous business at the hotel unnerved her,' explained Buckmaster, 'so she took to her bed. Kate – Miss Linnane – is a sensitive creature. It's ironic. Tomorrow, as Lady Macbeth, she'll urge me to slaughter the King of Scotland and she'll be utterly merciless in doing so. Yet when a real murder takes place so close to her, she is quite unable to cope with it. I, on the other hand,' he said, thrusting out his chin, 'am made of sterner stuff.'

'So I see, Mr Buckmaster.'

'I had the courage to identify the body when Superintendent Stockdale requested me to do so. It was a hideous sight but I didn't flinch. An actor must have complete self-control. Not that I didn't shed a tear for him,' he went on, inhaling deeply through his nose. 'Mr Kellow was a pleasant young man with a patent love of what he was doing. Apparently, he helped to make that silver coffee pot. It showed exceptional talent.'

'How would you describe him?'

'He struck me as an intelligent, well-spoken, responsible chap. He was somewhat unworldly, though, and felt uneasy at travelling in a first class railway carriage. It was obviously a rare treat for him. Miss Linanne and I are used to people being cowed by our presence – that's part of an actor's stock-in-trade, after all – but Mr Kellow was completely over-awed.'

'Did he tell you anything about his work?' probed Colbeck.

'Not at first,' replied Buckmaster. 'We found it hard to get more than two words out of him – and he kept hugging his leather bag as it if contained the Crown Jewels. We had great difficulty persuading him to let us see the coffee pot and we were not allowed to touch it.'

'What was your first reaction when you saw it?'

Buckmaster hunched his shoulders. 'I knew that I was looking at a work of art, Inspector.'

'Was it really that good, sir?'

'Don't take my word for it. Miss Linnane is something of an expert on silver – perhaps because her admirers have showered her with gifts made of silver over the years – and she was entranced by it. I'm sure that she'll tell you that when you speak to her. At the moment, alas,' he said with a sigh, 'she has this foolish notion that that murder only happened because we are staging a play that has a history of disasters associated with it.'

'Macbeth is steeped in superstition.'

'Superstition is the sign of a weak mind, Inspector. I have no truck with it. When this theatre opened in 1826, the first play presented was Macbeth with the great William Macready in the title role. I seek to emulate him.'

'I have no doubt that you will, Mr Buckmaster,' said Colbeck, admiringly. 'I've always enjoyed your performances.'

The actor beamed. 'Thank you, Inspector.'

'As for the choice of play, I'm inclined to agree with you. I fear that Mr Kellow would have met the same fate had you been staging A Midsummer Night's Dream.'

'That's well beyond our capabilities,' admitted Buckmaster. 'Even with strenuous doubling, it has far too many characters for a touring company. Actors need to be paid and our income is very restricted. That's why we have to rely on patronage.'

'Yes,' said Colbeck, 'I noticed from your playbill that the first night is being sponsored by the mayor.'

'There are three other bespoke performances so we can rely on an audience for those. The challenge is to fill the theatre on the other nights as well as at the matinee.'

'Word of mouth will surely do that for you, sir. And there is no shame in patronage. Elizabethan theatre was built on it. Shakespeare and his ilk all needed patrons. However,' he said, noting how satanic the actor looked in the flickering gaslight, 'let's return to Mr Kellow. Did he tell you anything about his private life?'

'He didn't seem to have much of a private life, Inspector,' said Buckmaster. 'His employer, Mr Voke, made him work long hours and the poor man could not afford much in the way of entertainment. Mr Kellow rented a room near the shop. I gather that his parents had both died years ago. He spoke of a sister who lived in London but they saw very little of each other.'

'What did he tell you of Mr Voke?'

'Oh, he spoke very fondly of him but I'd already observed the deep affection between the two of them. Mr Voke waved him off at the station. They seemed so close that I took them for father and son. As it turned out,' he recalled, 'Mr Kellow has been more of son to the old man than his own flesh and blood.'

Colbeck's ears pricked up. 'In what way, sir?'

'Well, it transpires that the young Mr Voke, also a silversmith, expected to take over the business in time and resented the fact that his father gave some of the best commissions to Mr Kellow because he deemed him the superior craftsman. There were also constant rows between father and son about money. In the end, there was a serious rift in the lute and the son stalked off to work elsewhere.'