Leeming feared another horde of passengers but it was only the stationmaster.
‘Good God!’ yelled Woodford, seeing the manageress for the first time that morning. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’
‘I’m remaining at my post out of loyalty to Mr Heygate,’ she said, crisply.
‘You can’t work in here dressed like that.’
‘I can and I will, Mr Woodford.’
‘Think how it must look to our customers,’ said the stationmaster. ‘They want to eat and drink — not to take part in a funeral service.’ He stared at Leeming’s apron. ‘And whatever are
‘It wasn’t my idea,’ said the other, disconsolately.
‘Where’s Miss Hope?’
‘She’s being interviewed by Inspector Colbeck.’
‘Did I hear my name being taken in vain?’ asked Colbeck, entering the room with Dorcas. ‘I’ve brought your waitress back, Mrs Rossiter.’
She tossed her head. ‘Not before time, if I may say so.’
‘This is preposterous,’ said Woodford, taking charge. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Rossiter, but I can’t allow you to deal with the general public in mourning garb. You must either change into something more presentable or stay at home until you’re ready to do so. I suggest that you leave at once.’
‘I refuse to go,’ she said, folding her arms.
‘I’m giving you an order.’
‘I prefer to obey my instincts.’
‘If you don’t do as you’re told,’ he warned, ‘then you’ll face dismissal.’
She was visibly shaken by the threat and Dorcas was utterly dismayed. Trying to relieve the tension, Colbeck stepped in with an emollient smile.
‘There’s no need for talk of dismissal,’ he said. ‘Mrs Rossiter is clearly an asset to this refreshment room. As it happens, I need to speak to her alone, so I’ll borrow her if I may. I’m sure that Mrs Rossiter is as eager as the rest of us to move the investigation on to the next stage. Isn’t that so?’
‘Yes, it is, Inspector,’ she confirmed.
‘Very well,’ said Woodford, ‘but I’m not having any member of the staff dressed in mourning wear. When you’ve concluded your interview, Inspector, don’t send her back in here.’
‘Leave it to me,’ suggested Colbeck. ‘Mrs Rossiter and I have a lot to discuss. I’ll certainly be touching on the subject of her appearance.’ He indicated the door. ‘Shall we go, Mrs Rossiter?’
She weighed up the situation carefully, looking first at the grim countenance of the stationmaster, then at Colbeck. After deliberation, she picked up her reticule, took her coat from its hook and walked towards the door.
Dorcas was alarmed. ‘I can’t manage in here on my own.’
‘You won’t have to,’ said Colbeck. ‘The sergeant will assist you.’
Leeming turned puce. ‘Am I to be subservient to a
‘It could be worse, Victor.’
‘That’s impossible.’
‘Think what Superintendent Tallis would say if he saw you in that apron.’
Edward Tallis sat behind his desk in a cloud of cigar smoke. Whenever he was under real pressure, he reached for a cigar in the mistaken belief that it helped his thought processes. In fact, it dulled his mind, shortened his breath, darkened his teeth and left him with an unpleasant taste in his mouth. Notwithstanding that, he enjoyed the act of smoking. It was one of the few luxuries that he allowed himself. Picking up the letter that lay on his desk, he read it for the fifth time. Each word was a sharp pinprick and the cumulative effect was painful. Tallis did not take criticism easily. When it was serious criticism, he was even less inclined to accept it and was adept at unloading it on to somebody else. Inhaling deeply, he then blew out more smoke to thicken the fug and ground his cigar into the ashtray with a vengeance. Tallis stood up, brushed the ash from his waistcoat and came to a decision. Minutes later, he left Scotland Yard.
‘Were you aware that Mr Heygate kept a diary?’ asked Colbeck.
‘No,’ she admitted, ‘I wasn’t.’
‘Did you know where he kept his money?’
‘It was none of my business, Inspector.’
‘Did he ever mention an owl to you?’
‘I don’t believe that he did.’
‘Mrs Rossiter,’ he said, gently, ‘you keep telling me how close you and he were but it’s hardly borne out by the facts. You were never once invited into his house, were you?’
‘That means nothing. We had an understanding.’
Colbeck was sympathetic. She was evidently under immense strain. To cope with the loss of someone for whom she had deep, if unrequited, feelings she’d convinced herself that their relationship was far closer than it had been. He was therefore handling her with tact. They were in the stationmaster’s office and Agnes Rossiter was sitting beside the desk in Heygate’s old seat. Encouraged by Colbeck, she talked about her life at the railway station. She’d taken over the position of manageress after the untimely death from cholera of her husband over a decade earlier. They had no children and it was an eternal regret of hers. To stave off despair, she’d eventually moved in with her unmarried sister but she clearly missed the company of a man.
‘Mr Heygate knew my circumstances,’ she recalled, ‘and he showed me the greatest kindness. I never thought that I would get over the death of my husband but I did — thanks to him.’ Her jaw tightened. ‘The upsetting thing was that, when he lost his wife and daughter, Mr Heygate didn’t let me offer the support I got from him.’
‘He was doubtless grateful for the offer, Mrs Rossiter.’
‘He just never talked about it. Don’t you find that odd?’
‘Each of us has his or her own way of dealing with setbacks,’ said Colbeck, ‘and there’s no bigger setback than the loss of a loved one.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, taking out a black-edged handkerchief to dab at her eyes. ‘It’s happened to me twice now and the anguish is unbearable.’
‘That’s all the more reason why you should take some time off. It’s wrong for you to force yourself to work when you have so much on your mind. There’s a clash here,’ he pointed out. ‘Mourning is a private matter while serving refreshments is a public one. You can’t do both simultaneously.’
‘I don’t see why not.’
‘Mr Woodford was quite right. Mourning dress is out of place.’
She was waspish. ‘A fat lot he knows about mourning!’ she said. ‘He’s a cold-hearted man, Inspector, and he showed Mr Heygate little compassion during his time of suffering. I dislike him intensely.’
‘All the same, he is the acting stationmaster, so it’s best not to antagonise him.’
‘I won’t be ordered out of my own refreshment room.’
‘Then you should do as he advises,’ said Colbeck, ‘and wear something more appropriate. You don’t want to get tea stains on that lovely dress, do you?’
She softened. ‘It belonged to my mother. I inherited it.’
‘Then save it for the funeral, Mrs Rossiter. It doesn’t belong here.’
Mrs Rossiter studied him for a moment. He was quite unlike any policeman she’d met before and had a gentleness of manner that seemed at variance with the brutal world in which he was obliged to operate. Because Woodford had ordered her to change her apparel, she resolved not to do so. Colbeck had been more persuasive, arguing that she could not grieve properly while stuck behind a counter serving tea. She came to see how bizarre she must have looked.
‘Go home,’ he said, soothingly. ‘I’ll happily take you there in a cab.’
‘Perhaps that might be wise,’ she decided.
‘Let them find someone else to run the refreshment room. Not that they’ll do it half as well,’ he added. ‘Miss Hope was telling me how efficient you are.’
‘Miss Hope is a good girl — a trifle slow, that’s all.’
