Authors: Edward Marston
‘Use your influence, Superintendent,’ said Leeming.
‘We’d be eternally grateful, sir.’
Tallis was unconvinced. ‘Will that really help to solve the murder of the prison chaplain?’
‘And that of Jacob Guttridge,’ said Colbeck, firmly. ‘Somewhere in that list of names is the man that we want and – in all probability – his female accomplice.’
Winifred Hawkshaw was pleased to see her visitor. After a fruitless attempt to get her daughter to eat anything more than a slice of apple, she gave up and slumped in a chair. Emily retired to her room once more. Winifred could do nothing but
brood on a malign fate. A once happy home was now a place of unrelieved misery. The arrival of Gregory Newman lifted her out of her gloom.
‘Hello,’ she said, accepting a kiss on the cheek. ‘Come in.’
‘I won’t stay long,’ he told her, removing his hat and going into the parlour ahead of her. ‘I have to get back to Meg soon.’
‘Of course. Sit down for a moment, anyway.’
‘I will.’
‘Can I get you some tea?’
‘No, thank you.’ Newman took a seat and Winifred sat opposite him. They exchanged a warm smile. ‘I had a few words with Adam earlier on. He was in a peculiar mood.’
‘He’s been strange all day, Gregory. But at least he was civil to us and we must be thankful for that. Since the execution, Adam’s been like a bear with a sore head.’
‘I had some glad tidings for him.’
‘Oh?’
‘The prison chaplain was murdered on a train last night.’
‘Mr Jones?’ She gave a cry of delight but was instantly penitent. ‘God forgive me for rejoicing in the death of another!’
‘You’re entitled to rejoice, Win.’
‘No, it’s wrong. He was a man of the cloth.’
‘Are you forgetting what Nathan said about him?’
‘It makes no difference. This is awful news. How did he die?’
‘I don’t know the details,’ said Newman, disappointed by her response. ‘Our foreman passed it on to me. All that he picked up was that the chaplain was found dead in a railway carriage at Maidstone.’
‘Did you tell this to Adam?’
‘Yes, and I thought that he’d be glad as well.’
‘Wasn’t he?’
‘It was difficult to say, Win. There was hardly any reaction at all and that was surprising when you think of the way that he damned the chaplain at the execution. It’s odd,’ Newman went on, scratching his beard, ‘but it was almost as if Adam already knew.’
‘How could he?’
‘I don’t know and he didn’t stay long enough for me to find out. He rushed off. Adam said that he had somewhere to go and, judging by the way he left, it must have been somewhere important.’
‘He told me that he didn’t sleep at all last night.’
Newman was puzzled. ‘Then what is the lad up to?’ He dismissed the subject and turned his attention to her. ‘Let’s put him aside for the moment, shall we? The person I’m really worried about is you, Win.’
‘Why?’
‘You looked so drawn and harassed when I saw you this morning. So desperately tired. To be honest, I thought you were sickening for something.’
‘Don’t fret about me, Gregory.’
‘But I do.’
‘I’m worn down, that’s all,’ she explained. ‘This whole business has dragged on for so long. Nathan’s arrest was such a shock to me and the trial was unbearable. As for the execution…’
‘You shouldn’t have been there. I did try to stop you.’
‘He was my husband. I
had
to be there.’
‘It was too much to ask of any wife, Win. It was foolish
to put yourself through all that suffering outside Maidstone prison.’
‘Nathan wanted me, Gregory. I gave him my word.’
She looked down at her hands as unpleasant memories surged back to make her temples pound. He could see her struggling to compose herself. Newman gave her time to recover. When she eventually glanced up, she manufactured a smile.
‘I’m sorry. I try not to think about it or the pain floods back.’
‘I know.’
‘At least Emily was spared the sight. It would have been cruel to make her go with us. She adored Nathan – he could
talk
to her somehow. Emily always turned to him for help, not me.’
‘He was a good father to her.’
‘She trusted him.’
He looked upwards. ‘She spends all her time in her room?’
‘Yes, it’s so worrying. She won’t eat and she won’t speak to me.’
‘Would you like
me
to talk to her?’
‘You?’
‘Yes,’ said Newman, persuasively. ‘Emily and I always got on very well. She adored horses so she’d spend hours watching me at work in the forge. She talked all the time then. If a horse was well behaved, I’d let her hold the bridle sometimes. Emily liked that.’
‘Nathan always talked about buying her a pony of her own.’
‘Let me see if
I
can draw her out.’
Win was hesitant. ‘I’m not sure that it would do any
good.’
‘It will certainly do no harm. Bring her down.’
‘Well…’
‘And leave us alone for five minutes,’ he suggested.
Winifred considered the request for some time before she agreed to it. At length she went upstairs and Newman could hear a muted discussion with her daughter. Emily’s voice then rose in protest but it was instantly silenced by her mother’s rebuke. After another minute, tentative footsteps came down the stairs and the girl entered the room.
Newman stood up and gave her a welcoming smile.
‘Hello, Emily,’ he said.
‘Hello.’
‘I haven’t seen you for a while. Come and sit down so that I can have a proper look at you.’ She glanced nervously around the room then perched on the edge of an upright chair near the door. ‘That’s better,’ he said, resuming his own seat. ‘I was just talking to your mother about the way that you used to hold the horses for me at the forge.’
‘Yes.’
‘You enjoyed that, didn’t you?’ Emily nodded. ‘I don’t work as a blacksmith any more but I’ve still got my own horse and cart. If ever you want to come for a ride, you only have to ask. You can take the reins.’
‘Thank you.’
‘It’s important to get out. You mustn’t lock yourself away in your room like a hermit. We all miss Nathan terribly,’ he went on, lowering his voice to a soothing whisper. ‘When I take my wife to church on Sundays, the first prayer I say is for your father. Do you pray for him as well?’
‘All the time.’
‘But we haven’t seen you in church for weeks. You mustn’t be afraid of what other people may say,’ he told her. ‘You’ve just as much right as anyone to go to St Mary’s. There are one or two narrow-minded busybodies who may turn up their noses when they see anyone from this family but you’ve nothing at all to be embarrassed about, Emily. Your father was innocent.’
‘I know,’ she said, ‘that’s what makes it so hard to bear.’
‘You loved him dearly, didn’t you?’ said Newman. ‘Nathan was so proud of you. He was always talking about his lovely daughter. That’s how he thought of you, Emily – as his own child. And you looked on him as your real father, didn’t you?’
‘I tried.’
‘You were a proper family, all four of you.’
She shifted on her seat. ‘Can I go now, Mr Newman?’
‘Am I upsetting you in some way?’
‘No, no.’
‘Because we both want the same thing, Emily, you know that, don’t you? I’ll strain every bone in my body to prove that your father did not commit that crime. That’s why I got that petition together,’ he said, ‘and you saw how many people signed that.’
‘You did so much for us, Mr Newman.’
‘Then let me do a little more,’ he offered, spreading his arms. ‘Let me help you through this period of mourning.
Share
your grief, Emily. Talk to your mother about it. Come to church with us and show the town that you can bear this loss because you know in your heart that your father was not a killer. Stand up and be
seen
.’
‘I can’t, Mr Newman,’ she said, shaking her head.
‘Why not?’
‘Don’t ask me that.’
‘But we’re entitled to know. Your father was the best friend I ever had, Emily,’ he said, soulfully, ‘and I stood by him until the end. I’ll not give up on him now. Nathan may be dead but he still needs us to speak up for him, to show everyone how hard we’ll fight to protect his good name. You care, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she said, tearfully. ‘I care more than anyone.’
‘Then why can’t you open your heart to us?’
She stood up. ‘Let me go,’ she bleated, taking out a handkerchief.
‘Wait,’ he said, getting up to cross over to her. ‘Just tell me one thing, Emily. Why are you pushing away the people who love you? Mourn for your father with the rest of us.’
‘No, Mr Newman!’
‘It’s the right and proper way.’
‘I’m sorry but I can’t do it.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘You wouldn’t understand.’
‘Why not?’ he pressed.
She looked him in the eyes. ‘Because I feel too
ashamed
.’
After a hearty breakfast and a discussion as to how the investigation would proceed, Superintendent Edward Tallis was driven in a trap to Ashford Station to catch a train back to London. Both detectives were pleased to see him go but it was Victor Leeming who really savoured his departure. Slapping his thigh, he let out a controlled whoop of delight.
‘He’s gone at last!’ he cried.
‘He was only here for about twelve hours,’ Colbeck pointed out.
‘It seemed much longer somehow. If I have to spend a night away from my wife, I’d rather not do it under the same roof as Mr Tallis. It unsettled me, knowing that His Lordship was only a few doors away. I took ages to get off and I expect that you did as well.’
‘No, I slept extremely well.’
‘Well, I didn’t. It’s not the same without Estelle,’ said Leeming. ‘I missed her, Inspector.’
‘And I’m sure that she missed you just as much, Victor. The sooner we solve these crimes, the sooner you can get back to her.’
Having bidden farewell to their superior, they were still under the portico outside the Saracen’s Head. It was relatively
early but the town was already busy. People were bustling around the streets, shops were getting ready to open and the pandemonium from the railway works showed that the first shift of the day had begun. Across the road from them, an ironmonger was going slowly through his morning routine of displaying his wares outside his shop. He heaved out a long tin bath.
‘That’s what I could do with,’ said Leeming, covetously. ‘A bath.’
‘Take one back to your wife as a present.’
‘I meant that I’d like to soak in warm water for half an hour.’
‘I was only teasing you,’ said Colbeck, smiling. ‘There’s no time for either of us to relax, I fear. You need to be on your way to Canterbury.’
‘How will I find this Mr Perivale?’
‘His chambers are in Watling Street. Get his address from there.’
‘What if he doesn’t live in the city?’
‘Then go out to where he does live,’ instructed Colbeck. ‘The man could be unaware of the danger that he’s in. But that’s not the only reason you must speak to him, Victor. He was a key figure in the trial of Nathan Hawkshaw. I’ve several questions I’d like you to put to him,’ he said, extracting a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and handing it over. ‘I’ve written them down for you. Peruse them carefully.’
‘Wouldn’t it be better if you put them to him in person?’
‘Ideally, yes.’
‘You were a barrister. You talk the same language as this man.’
‘Unfortunately, I can’t be in two places at once.’
‘Where will you be, sir?’
‘Here in Ashford, for the most part,’ replied Colbeck. ‘I want to make some inquiries at the station, then I need to have a longer talk with Winifred Hawkshaw and with Gregory Newman. To mount the sort of campaign that they did was a formidable challenge to anyone yet they brought if off somehow.’
‘It failed all the same.’
‘That’s irrelevant. When I paid my first visit to Maidstone, I saw some of the leaflets calling for Hawkshaw’s release, and Sergeant Lugg showed me the advertisements placed in the local newspapers. They were all well written and must have cost money to produce. Who penned that literature and how could they afford to have it printed?’
‘Are they likely to tell you?’
‘It depends how I ask.’
‘I’d better go and find Constable Butterkiss,’ said Leeming. ‘He’s promised to drive me to Canterbury in a trap. If he keeps on at me about the Metropolitan Police, it’s going to be a very long journey. Oh, I do hope that I can get back home soon!’ he went on, earnestly. ‘I miss everything about London. And so do you, I daresay, sir.’
‘My place is here in Kent at the moment.’
‘Even you must have regrets.’
‘Regrets?’
‘Yes,’ said Leeming, broaching a topic he had never touched on before. ‘You must be sorry to be apart from Miss Andrews. I know that you like to spend time with her occasionally.’
‘I’ll certainly look forward to seeing her again,’ admitted Colbeck, smiling to himself at the unexpected mention of her name, ‘but Madeleine understands that my work always takes
precedence.’
‘That won’t stop the lady missing you, sir.’
Madeleine Andrews scanned the newspaper report with a combination of interest and horror. Her father was eating his breakfast before going off to work. She indicated the paper.
‘Have you seen this?’ she asked.
‘I read it on the way back from the shop, Maddy. When I saw that Inspector Colbeck was on the front page again, I knew you’d want to see it for yourself.’
‘A prison chaplain has been murdered.’
‘Yes.’
‘What kind of monster could want to kill a priest?’
‘Oh, I can think of one or two priests
I’d
like to have met in a dark alley,’ said Andrews with a grim chuckle.
‘Father!’ she said, reproachfully.
‘I’m only being honest, Maddy. When I was a boy, there was a Canon Howells at St Saviour’s who could make a sermon last a whole afternoon, and he’d give you such a clout if you dozed off in the middle. I should know. I had a clip around my ear from him more than once.’
‘This is not something to joke about.’
‘It’s no joke. I’m serious. Canon Howells was a holy terror and his deacon, Father Morris, was even worse.’ He swallowed the last of his porridge. ‘But I don’t think you have to look very far to find the man who killed that Reverend Jones.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It was obviously someone who’d been in Maidstone prison.’
‘That’s not what Robert thinks,’ said Madeleine, pointing to the article on the front page. ‘He’s certain that the murderer
was the same man who killed the public hangman in that excursion train.’
‘Yes, a former prisoner with a grudge.’
‘Robert is the detective. You keep to driving trains.’
‘I’m entitled to my opinion, aren’t I?’ he asked, combatively.
‘You’d give it in any case,’ she said, fondly, ‘whether you’re entitled to or not. You’ve got an opinion on everything, Father. Nobody can silence Caleb Andrews – even when he’s wrong.’
‘I’m not wrong, Maddy.’
‘You don’t know all the facts of the case.’
‘I know enough to make a comment.’
‘I’d sooner trust Robert’s judgement.’
‘Well, he does have an eye for picking things out,’ he said, wryly, ‘I have to admit that. After all, he picked you out, didn’t he?’
‘Please don’t start all that again,’ she warned. ‘You should be off.’
‘Let me finish this cup of tea first.’
‘Which train are you driving today?’
‘London to Birmingham.’
‘You must know that route by heart.’
‘I could drive it with my eyes closed,’ he boasted, draining his cup and getting up from the table. ‘Thanks for the breakfast, Maddy.’
‘You need a good meal inside you at the start of the day.’
‘You sound like your mother.’
‘What time will I expect you?’
‘Not too late.’
‘Will you be going for a drink first?’
‘Probably,’ he replied, taking his hat from the peg behind
the front door. ‘I’ll call in for a beer or two and tell them all what I think about this latest murder. They listen to me.’
‘Do you give them any choice?’
‘I’ve got this instinct, Maddy. Whenever there’s a serious crime, I always have this strange feeling about who committed it. Look at this case of the dead chaplain.’
‘It’s shocking.’
‘The person who done him in just has to be someone who was locked up in that prison and took against the Reverend Jones. It was the same with that hangman,’ he went on, putting on his hat and opening the front door. ‘All prisoners hate Jack Ketch because he could be coming for them with his noose one day.’
‘Yes,’ she said, immersed in the paper again.
‘That’s enough to make anyone want revenge.’
‘Maybe.’
‘I know that I would if I was put behind bars.’
‘Of course.’
‘Goodbye, Maddy. I’m off.’
‘Goodbye.’
‘Don’t I get my kiss?’ he whined.
But she did not even hear his complaint. Madeleine had just noticed a small item at the bottom of the page. Linked to the main story, it reminded her poignantly of the last time that she had seen Robert Colbeck. An idea suddenly flashed into her mind. Caleb Andrews had to manage without his farewell kiss for once.
As soon as the shop opened, Adam Hawkshaw brought some meat out and started to hack it expertly into pieces before setting them out on the table. Other butchers were also getting
ready for customers in Middle Row but all they had in response to their greeting was a curt nod of acknowledgement. The first person to appear in the passage was Inspector Colbeck. He strolled up to Adam Hawkshaw.
‘Good morning,’ he said, politely.
‘I’ve nothing to say to you.’
‘Are you always so rude to your customers?’
‘Customers?’
‘Yes,’ said Colbeck. ‘I didn’t come to buy meat but I am shopping for information and I’m not leaving until I get it. If you insist on refusing to speak to me, of course, I may have to arrest you.’
‘Why?’ rejoined the other, testily. ‘I done nothing wrong.’
‘Obstructing a police officer in the exercise of his duties is a crime, Mr Hawkshaw. In other words, a decision confronts you.’
‘Eh?’
‘We can either have this conversation here and now or we’ll have it when you’re in custody. It’s your choice.’
‘I got to work in this shop.’
‘Then we’ll sort this out right away, shall we?’ said Colbeck, briskly. ‘Where were you the night before last?’
‘That’s my business,’ retorted Hawkshaw.
‘It also happens to be my business.’
‘Why?’
‘I need to establish your whereabouts during that evening.’
‘I was in my room,’ said the other, evasively. ‘Satisfied now?’
‘Only if we have a witness who can verify that. Do we?’ Hawkshaw shook his head. ‘I thought not.’
‘I was on my own.’
‘Gregory Newman told me that you rented a room near the Corn Exchange. There must have been someone else in the house at the time. Your landlord, for instance?’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘I’ll ask him if
he
remembers.’
‘He wouldn’t know,’ said Hawkshaw. ‘I come and go as I please.’
‘I’ve just been talking to the stationmaster at Ashford station. He recalls a young man of your build and colouring, who took a train to Paddock Wood on the evening in question.’
‘It must have been someone else, Inspector.’
‘Are you quite certain of that?’
Hawkshaw met his gaze. ‘I was alone in my room all evening.’
‘Studying the Bible, I daresay.’
‘What?’
‘No,’ said Colbeck on reflection, glancing at the board beside him. ‘I don’t think you have much time for reading – or for writing either. That’s evident. I doubt if you’d even know where to find St Paul’s Epistle to the Romans, would you?’ Hawkshaw looked mystified. ‘There you are,’ Colbeck went on, ‘that wasn’t too difficult was it? I’ll have some more questions for you in time but I’ll not hold you up any longer. I need to speak to your stepmother now.’
‘She’s not in,’ claimed the butcher.
‘Then I wonder whose face I saw in the bedroom window when I crossed the high street just now. Is it possible that Mrs Hawkshaw has a twin sister living over the shop?’ Hawkshaw glowered at him. ‘Excuse me while I speak to someone who’s a little more forthcoming.’
Meat cleaver in his hand, Hawkshaw moved across to
block his way but the determination in Colbeck’s eye made him change his mind. He stood aside and the detective went into the shop before tapping on the door at the rear. It was not long before he and Winifred Hawkshaw were sitting down together in the parlour. He held his top hat in his lap. She was watchful.
‘I finally had a conversation with your stepson,’ he said.
‘Oh?’
‘He seems to be having a problem with his memory.’
‘Does he, Inspector?’
‘Yes, Mrs Hawkshaw. He tells me that he spent the night before last alone in his room yet a witness places him – or someone very much like him – at the railway station that evening. Have you any idea where he might have been going?’
‘Adam was where he said he was.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because we brought him up to be honest,’ said Winifred, stoutly. ‘I know you think he might have had something to do with the murder of the prison chaplain but you’re wrong. Adam is like his father – he’s been falsely accused.’
‘I haven’t accused him of anything, Mrs Hawkshaw.’
‘You suspect him. Why else are you here?’
‘I wanted to eliminate him from my inquiries,’ said Colbeck, levelly, ‘and I did so by discovering if he had any acquaintance with the New Testament. Patently, he does not. The reason I wanted to see you is to ask a favour.’
She was suspicious. ‘What sort of favour?’
‘When your husband was arrested, several people rallied around you and supported your campaign.’
‘Nathan had lots of friends.’
‘Did you keep a record of their names?’
‘Why should I do that?’
‘Because you knew how to organise things properly.’
‘That was Gregory’s doing, Inspector.’
‘I fancy that you were intimately involved in every aspect of the campaign, Mrs Hawkshaw. You had the biggest stake in it, after all. He was your husband. That’s why you fought tooth and nail to save him.’
‘Yes,’ she said, proudly, ‘and I’d do the same again.’
‘I respect that.’
‘Yet you still think Nathan was guilty.’
‘Oddly enough, I don’t,’ he told her. ‘In fact, having learnt more details of the case, I’d question the safety of the conviction.’
‘Do you?’ Winifred Hawkshaw regarded him frank distrust. ‘Or are you just saying that to trick me?’
‘Trick you into what?’
‘I’m not sure yet.’
‘All I want to know is who helped you in your campaign and how you funded the whole thing? There’s no trickery in that, is there?’
‘I can’t remember all the names,’ she said. ‘There were far too many of them. Most people paid a little towards our expenses.’
‘And what about the rescue attempt at Maidstone prison?’