For most of its existence, South Otterington had been largely untouched by scandal. It was a relatively safe and uneventful place in which to live. Petty theft and being drunk and disorderly were the only crimes to disturb the even tenor of the village and they were occasional rather than permanent features of its little world. The disappearance of Miriam Tarleton from ‘the big house’ was a different matter altogether. It concentrated the minds of all the inhabitants and set alight a roaring bonfire of speculation. The grotesque suicide of the colonel only served to add fuel to the flames. There was a veritable inferno of gossip and conjecture. Precious little of it, however, seemed to favour the dead man.
By the time that the detectives arrived, rumour was starting to harden into accepted fact. Alighting from the train, the first person they sought out was the stationmaster, Silas Ellerby, a short, slight, middle-aged man with protruding eyes and florid cheeks. When the visitors introduced themselves, he was suitably impressed.
‘You’ve come all the way from London?’ he asked.
‘There are personal as well as professional reasons why I want a full investigation,’ explained Tallis. ‘The colonel and I were friends. We served together in India.’
‘I thought you had the look of an army man, sir.’
‘Who’s been put in charge of this business?’
‘That would be Sergeant Hepworth of the railway police.’
‘I’ll need to speak to him.’
‘He lives here in the village.’
‘Mr Ellerby,’ said Colbeck, taking over, ‘the colonel’s death is clearly linked to the disappearance of his wife. How long has Mrs Tarleton been missing?’
‘It must be all of two weeks now,’ replied Ellerby.
‘Was an extensive search undertaken?’
‘Yes, the colonel had dozens of people out looking for her.’
‘He’d have led the search himself,’ said Tallis.
‘He did, sir – day after day, from dawn till dusk.’
‘Were no clues found?’
‘Never a one – it was baffling.’
‘Let’s go back to the events of yesterday,’ suggested Colbeck. ‘Where exactly did the suicide take place?’
‘It was roughly midway between here and Thirsk.’
‘That’s south of here, then.’
‘Correct, sir.’
‘According to the superintendent, the colonel’s house lies due north. If he wanted to throw himself in front of a train, he could have done so without coming through the village at all.’
‘Sergeant Hepworth had the answer to that.’
‘I’d be interested to hear it.’
‘The line to Northallerton is fairly straight. The driver would have had a better chance of seeing someone long before the train reached him. He might even have been able to stop in time. The colonel chose his spot with care,’ Ellerby went on. ‘He picked the sharpest bend so that he wouldn’t be spotted until it was far too late. Hal Woodman said there wasn’t a hope of missing him.’
‘Was Mr Woodman the driver?’
‘Yes, Inspector, and it turned him to a jelly. When the train pulled in here, Hal could hardly speak and his fireman was in an even worse state. I’ll wager they’re both off work today.’
‘You talk as if you know them, Mr Ellerby.’
‘I should do. I’ve had many a pint with Hal Woodman and Seth Roseby over the years. It wasn’t an express between London and Edinburgh, you see. It was a local train that runs between York and Darlington.’
‘Where does Mr Woodman live?’
‘He’s just over four miles away in Northallerton.’
‘Sergeant,’ said Colbeck, turning to him. ‘I think that you should pay him a visit. Take the next train.’
‘But we’ve only just got here,’ protested Leeming.
‘It’s important to have a clearer idea of what actually happened.’
‘I can give you Hal’s address,’ volunteered Ellerby.
‘Then it’s settled,’ said Tallis, taking control. ‘Leave your bag with us and catch the next train to Northallerton.’
‘Yes, Superintendent,’ said Leeming with a grimace. ‘Where will I find you when I come back?’
‘They have two rooms at the Black Bull,’ said Ellerby, pointing a finger, ‘and George Jolly lets out a room at the rear of the Swan, if you don’t mind cobwebs and beetles.’
‘That one will do for you, Sergeant,’ decided Tallis. ‘We’ll probably be at the Black Bull. Meet us there. When we’ve booked some rooms, we’ll be going out to the colonel’s house. The first person I want to speak to is Mrs Withers.’
Margery Withers let herself in and crossed to the window. It was the biggest and most comfortable bedroom in the house, commanding a fine view of the garden and of the fields beyond. She spent a few minutes gazing down at the well-tended lawns and borders, noting the rustic bench on which her employers had once posed for a portrait and the ornamental pond with its darting fish. She was torn between anguish and elation, grief-stricken at the colonel’s suicide yet strangely excited by the fact that she – however briefly – was now the mistress of the house.
After looking around the room with a proprietorial smile, she did something that she had always wanted to do. She sat in front of the dressing table and opened the jewellery box in front of her. Out came the pearl necklace she’d seen so many times around the throat of Miriam Tarleton. The very feel of it sent a thrill through her and she couldn’t resist putting it on and admiring the effect in the mirror. Next came a pair of matching earrings which she held up to her lobes, then she took out a diamond bracelet and slipped it on her wrist. It had cost more than her wages for a year and she stroked it jealously.
On and on she went, working her way through the contents of the box and luxuriating in temporary ownership. Mrs Withers was so caught up in her fantasy that she didn’t hear the sound of the trap coming up the gravel drive at the front of the house. It was only when the dog started yapping that she realised she had visitors. Skip, the little spaniel who’d been moping all day, scurried to the door in the hope that his master had at last returned. When he saw that it was not the colonel after all, he retreated to his basket and began to whine piteously.
Mrs Withers descended the stairs in time to see Lottie Pearl conducting two men into the drawing room. Going in after them, she dismissed the servant with a flick of her hand.
‘Thank you, Lottie,’ she said. ‘That will be all.’ As the girl went out, the housekeeper looked at Tallis. ‘I wasn’t expecting you, Major. I fear that you’ve come at an inopportune time.’
‘We’re well aware of that, Mrs Withers. We’re here in an official capacity. You only know me as Major Tallis but, in point of fact, I’m a superintendent of the Detective Department at Scotland Yard.’
She was astounded. ‘You’re a policeman?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, indicating his companion, ‘and so is Inspector Colbeck.’
‘I’m pleased to meet you,’ said Colbeck, ‘and I’m sorry that it has to be in such unfortunate circumstances. You must feel beleaguered.’
‘It’s been an ordeal, Inspector,’ she said, ‘and there’s no mistake about that. However, I must continue to do my duty. The colonel would have expected that of me.’ She waved an arm. ‘Please sit down. Can I get you refreshment of any kind?’
‘No, thank you, Mrs Withers,’ answered Tallis, lowering himself onto the sofa. ‘What we’d really like you to do is to explain to us exactly what’s been going on.’ She hovered uncertainly. ‘This is no time for ceremony. You’re a key witness not simply a housekeeper. Take a seat.’
Mrs Withers chose an upright chair and Colbeck opted for one of the armchairs. The housekeeper was much as she’d been described to him by Tallis. She looked smart, alert and efficient. He sensed that she had a fierce loyalty to her employers.
‘In your own words,’ coaxed Tallis, ‘tell us what you know.’
‘It’s the things I don’t know that worry me, Major – oh, I’m sorry. You’re Superintendent Tallis now.’
‘Start with Mrs Tarleton’s disappearance,’ said Colbeck, gently. ‘We understand that it was a fortnight ago.’
‘That’s right, Inspector. The colonel and his wife went for a walk with Skip – that’s the dog. I think he knows, by the way. Animals always do. He’s been whining like that all day long. Anyway,’ she continued, ‘Colonel and Mrs Tarleton soon split up. She was going off to see a friend in Northallerton. It would have been quicker to go by train or to take the trap but she loved walking.’
She paused. ‘Go on,’ urged Colbeck.
‘There’s not much more to say. She was never seen again and I haven’t the slightest idea what happened to her. Some people claim to have heard shots that afternoon but that’s not unusual around here.’
‘I’m sure it isn’t, Mrs Withers. Farmers will always want to protect their crops and I daresay there are those who go out after rabbits for the pot.’ He noticed the hesitant look in her eyes. ‘Is there something you haven’t told us?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, blurting out her answer, ‘and it’s best that it comes from me because others will make it sound far worse than it is. They have such suspicious minds. On the day that his wife vanished, the colonel was carrying a shotgun. He very often did.’
‘I can vouch for that,’ said Tallis. ‘On the occasions when I’ve been here, we went out shooting together. I can’t believe that anyone would think him capable of committing murder.’
‘Oh, they do. Once a rumour starts, it spreads. And it wasn’t only the nasty gossip in the village,’ she said, ruefully. ‘There were the letters as well.’
‘What letters?’
‘They accused him of killing his wife, Superintendent.’
‘Who sent them?’
She shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. They were unsigned.’
‘Poison pen letters,’ observed Colbeck. ‘What did the colonel do with them, Mrs Withers?’
‘He told me to burn them but I couldn’t resist reading them before I did so. They were foul.’
‘Were they all written by the same hand?’
‘Oh, no, I’d say that three or four people sent them, though one of them wrote a number of times. His comments were the worst.’
‘How do you know he was a man?’
‘No woman would use such filthy language.’
‘It’s a pity you didn’t keep any of them,’ grumbled Tallis. ‘If anyone is trying to blacken the name of Colonel Tarleton, I want to know who they are.’
‘Well, there was the one that came yesterday,’ she remembered. ‘When I pointed it out to the colonel, he said he didn’t have time for the mail. I think he couldn’t bear to read any more of those vile accusations. In my opinion, they drove him to do what he did.’
‘Could you fetch the letter, please?’
‘I’ll get it at once, Superintendent.’
As soon as her back was turned, Tallis glanced meaningfully at Colbeck and the latter nodded his assent. The superintendent felt that Mrs Withers might be more forthcoming in the presence of someone she already knew rather than when she was being cross-examined by the two of them. Getting to his feet, Colbeck went into the hall and asked where he could find the servant who’d opened the door to them. Mrs Withers told him, then she went back into the drawing room with the letter, her black taffeta rustling as she did so.
‘Here it is, sir,’ she said, handing it over.
‘How can you be sure that it’s a poison pen letter?’
‘I recognise the handwriting. It’s from the man who’s already sent more than one letter. The postmark shows it was posted in Northallerton.’
Tallis scowled. ‘That means it came from a local man.’ He opened the envelope and read the letter with mounting horror. ‘Dear God!’ he exclaimed. ‘Is this the sort of thing people are saying about the colonel? It’s utterly shameful.’
Lottie Pearl was in the larger of the guest bedrooms, fitting one of the pillowcases she’d just ironed. Even though it was too big for her, she was wearing the black dress that she’d borrowed earlier from her mother. There was a tap on the door and it opened to reveal Colbeck. When she saw his tall, lean frame filling the doorway, she moved back defensively as if fearing for her virtue.
‘I’m sorry to startle you,’ he said. ‘Lottie, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right, sir.’
‘I’m Inspector Colbeck and I’m a detective from London.’
‘I haven’t done anything wrong,’ she cried in alarm.
He smiled reassuringly. ‘I know that you haven’t, Lottie. Look, why don’t we go downstairs? I think you might find it easier if we had this conversation in the kitchen.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Glad to escape from the bedroom, she trotted down the steps and went into the kitchen. Sitting opposite her, Colbeck first explained what he and Tallis were doing there but he failed to remove the chevron of anxiety from her brow.
‘Do you like working here?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I do, sir. There’s a lot to do, of course, but I don’t mind that. My mother always wanted me to end up here in the big house.’
‘It is a big house, isn’t it?’ said Colbeck. ‘I would have thought it needed more than two of you on the domestic staff.’
‘There used to be a cook and a maidservant, sir.’
‘Do you know why they left?’
‘No, that was before my time. Mrs Withers took over the cooking and I was expected to do just about everything else. The girl who had my job was dismissed for being lazy.’
‘How did you get on with your employers?’
‘I didn’t see much of them, sir, but they never complained about my work, I made sure of that. Mrs Tarleton was a nice woman with a kind face. The colonel was a bit strict but Mrs Withers told me that that was just his way. She spoke very highly of both of them.’
‘How long has she been here?’
‘Donkey’s years,’ said Lottie. ‘She came as housekeeper and her husband was head gardener. He died when he was still young and Mrs Withers stayed on. And that’s another thing,’ she added. ‘There used to be three gardeners but there’s only one now.’
‘I see.’
She drew back. ‘Have you come to arrest someone, sir?’
‘Only if it proves necessary,’ he said. ‘Neither you nor Mrs Withers have anything to fear. All we’re after is guidance.’
‘I can’t give you much of that.’
‘You may be surprised. Tell me what happened on the day that Mrs Tarleton went missing.’
Pursing her lips, she gathered her thoughts. ‘It was a day like any other day,’ she said. ‘The colonel went for his usual walk before breakfast with Skip, then his wife joined him for the meal. Later on, he took her part of the way along the road to Northallerton then he went off shooting. He brought back some pigeons for Mrs Withers to put in a pie. I had to take the feathers off.’
‘When did it become clear that Mrs Tarleton was missing?’
‘It was when she didn’t turn up at the railway station. She walked to Northallerton but was going to come back by train. The colonel was very worried. He drove over there in the trap and called on the friend his wife went to see. Mrs Tarleton had never been there. The friend had been wondering where she was.’
Lottie rambled on and Colbeck encouraged her to do so. Much of what she told him was irrelevant but her comments on the village and its inhabitants were all interesting. It was clear from the way that the words tumbled out that the girl had very little chance to express herself at the house. Colbeck had unblocked a dam and created a minor waterfall.
‘And that’s all I can tell you, sir,’ she concluded, breathlessly. ‘Except that I feel as if it’s something to do with me. I mean, none of this happened until I came to work here. It’s almost as if it’s my fault. Deep down, that’s what Mrs Withers thinks. I can see it in her eyes. Mind you,’ she went on, philosophically, ‘there’s some as are worse off than me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The engine driver is the one I feel sorry for, Inspector. He killed Colonel Tarleton. That’ll be on his conscience for the rest of his life. Poor man!’ she sighed. ‘I’d hate to be in his shoes.’
‘How fast was the train travelling?’ asked Victor Leeming.
‘Fast enough – almost forty miles an hour.’
‘And where exactly on the line did you hit him?’
‘The spot will be easy to find, Sergeant,’ said Hal Woodman. ‘I’m told that some people have put flowers there.’
‘It must have been a shock to you and the fireman.’
‘It were. We sometimes have children playing on the line – daring each other to stand in front of a train – but they always jump out of the way in plenty of time. The colonel just marched on.’
‘Didn’t he just stop and wait?’
‘No, he seemed to be in a hurry to get it over with. It were weird. When we hit him, like, Seth – he’s my fireman – spewed all over the footplate. But we left an even worse mess on the line.’
Leeming had been in luck. Expecting a long search in the town, he was relieved to discover that Woodman lived within easy walking distance of the railway station. It took the sergeant only five minutes to find him and to acquaint him with the reason they’d come to the area. Woodman was a thickset man in his thirties, with a weather-beaten face and missing teeth. He was still patently upset by the incident on the previous day and went over it time and again.
‘Did you know Colonel Tarleton beforehand? said Leeming.
‘Everyone knows the colonel. The old bastard sits on the bench in this town. They reckon he’s a tartar. I’m glad that I never came up before him.’
‘Did you recognise him at the time?’
‘Of course not,’ said Woodman. ‘When you’re on the footplate, you’re staring through clouds of smoke and steam. All we could make out was that it was a man with a cane.’ He pulled a face. ‘It fair turned my stomach, I can tell you. There was simply nothing we could do.’ He rallied slightly. ‘In a sense, I suppose, I shouldn’t feel so bad about it, should I?’
‘Why not?’ asked Leeming.
‘Well, I was doing everyone a favour, really. We all know that he shot his wife. He got himself killed on purpose before the law caught up with him. Yes,’ Woodman continued as if a load had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders, ‘you could say we were heroes of a kind, me and Seth Roseby. We gave that bugger what he deserved and did the hangman’s job for him.’