nevertheless and I ask you to respect our feelings.’
‘My husband and I have been distracted by grief,’ said Lavinia, pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve as if about to stem tears. ‘Please bear that in mind.’
‘I will, Mrs Heygate,’ promised Leeming, ‘and I’m sorry to intrude at such a time. But the more we learn about the character of your brother-in-law, the more helpful it is to us. Everyone speaks highly of him and yet he was the victim of a despicable crime. Can either of you suggest who committed it?’
‘No, we can’t,’ said Heygate.
‘Did he never confide that he had enemies?’
‘It was something we never discussed, Sergeant.’
‘Did he seem at all afraid on that last occasion when you saw him?’
‘Joel was never afraid.’
‘He was a brave man,’ added Lavinia. ‘I’ll say that for him. He loved his job at the station and wouldn’t let anyone cause trouble there. Isn’t that true, Michael?’
‘Yes, it is,’ confirmed her husband. ‘Joel would tackle anybody.’
‘That’s the impression we’ve been getting,’ said Leeming.
After a few more questions, Leeming apologised again for disturbing them. He then asked them to get in touch with him and Colbeck if they remembered anything — even the slightest detail — that might be of relevance to the investigation. So eager were they to get rid of him that they both accompanied him to the front door. Heygate opened it and ushered the visitor into the street.
‘I did some fishing as a lad,’ recalled Leeming.
‘It’s a very popular hobby,’ said Heygate. ‘That’s why I opened the shop.’
‘I’m sorry that it faltered, sir.’
‘We prefer to forget about that … Goodbye, Sergeant.’
‘Goodbye, sir, and goodbye, Mrs Heygate.’ About to turn away, Leeming paused. ‘Oh, there is one thing I meant to ask. Have you lived in Devon for long?’
‘We’ve both spent all our lives here,’ said Heygate. ‘I was born in Exeter and my wife hails from Starcross. It’s not far away.’
‘I know. I came past it on my way here. In fact,’ said Leeming, ‘perhaps you can help me. According to Inspector Colbeck, Starcross was one of the places where they tried to run trains by atmospheric pressure.’
‘That’s right. Joel was very excited about it at the time. He was upset when the experiment was abandoned. What did you wish to know, Sergeant?’
Leeming smiled hopefully. ‘How exactly did it
Agnes Rossiter was in a pitiable condition. Still dressed like a grieving widow, she sat in the corner of the room and stared blankly ahead of her through red-rimmed eyes. Colbeck had called at the little cottage and been admitted by Frances Impey, the unmarried sister. Frances was older, paler and thinner with plain features and watery eyes. Lacking any confidence, she was in a state of continual embarrassment as if forever apologising for her very existence. As he glanced around the cluttered parlour with its fading wallpaper, its sparse furniture, its insipid paintings, its threadbare carpet, its potted plant, its stuffed fox and its vague smell of damp, Colbeck felt that it was the ideal habitat for the spinster. It was a place into which she could withdraw from life surrounded only by what was old, worn and familiar.
‘She’s been like this all morning,’ said Frances, hands fluttering like a pair of giant butterflies. ‘Agnes won’t eat a thing. I made her a nourishing broth but she refused to touch it.’
‘Did she get any sleep?’ asked Colbeck.
‘No, Inspector, she sat up all night in that chair. I don’t know what’s got into my sister. Is it true that she created a scene at the cathedral?’
‘There was an incident of sorts,’ he said, trying to play down its significance. ‘Mrs Rossiter is clearly unable to control her emotions.’
‘It frightens me.’
‘I daresay that it does, Miss Impey.’
‘It’s so unlike Agnes, you see. She always has so much to say for herself.’
‘I’ve taken the liberty of asking for a medical opinion,’ said Colbeck, raising a hand when he saw the panic in her face. ‘Have no fear about the cost. I spoke to Mr Quinnell and told him of your sister’s sterling service. In view of that, the railway company has offered to pay the bills for any treatment.’
The word alarmed her. ‘Treatment? What sort of treatment?’
‘That depends on Dr Swift’s advice.’
‘Agnes has never been this ill before. She couldn’t afford to be.’
‘Tell me how it started,’ said Colbeck. ‘How did your sister seem when she came home after hearing about Mr Heygate’s death?’
‘She was as white as a sheet, Inspector. It was even worse than when her dear husband died — God rest his soul! Agnes wept for hours on end.’
‘Were she and the stationmaster close friends?’
‘Oh, yes, she thought the world of him.’
‘Did Mr Heygate ever visit her here?’
‘Lord, no,’ said Frances, drawing back defensively. ‘I don’t have any gentlemen under my roof — except for the vicar, of course, but he’s different. Agnes would never have brought Mr Heygate into my house. That was understood when she first moved in with me. She would have seen him elsewhere.’
‘Yet they don’t appear to have spent any time together outside working hours.’
‘I think you’re wrong there, Inspector. Agnes would go out of an evening now and then and it was always to see Mr Heygate.’
‘Is that what she told you?’
‘It was the truth. We kept no secrets from each other.’
Colbeck preferred to rely on the testimony of others. The stationmaster had never spent an evening alone with Mrs Rossiter. She’d invented a fantasy courtship and persuaded a gullible sister to believe in it. Now that Heygate had died, her fantasy had crumbled and her unrealistic hopes of a second marriage had perished. She was forced to confront a bleak future without a dream of escape to sustain her. As a result, something inside her had snapped.
Looking at her now, it was difficult to imagine her running wildly down the nave of the cathedral, but Colbeck had no reason to doubt the report he’d been given by the police. The manageress had gone from one extreme to another. After her dramatic and uncontrolled action, she’d now lapsed into a wounded silence. Sitting opposite her, Colbeck tried to break it.
‘Good morning, Mrs Rossiter,’ he said, softly. ‘How are you today?’
There was no reply. She didn’t even seem to notice that he was there.
‘It’s Inspector Colbeck,’ he went on. ‘You remember me.’
‘It’s no use,’ said Frances. ‘I couldn’t get a word out of her myself. She just sits there and broods.’ She held her sister’s hands. ‘It’s the inspector, Agnes, the kind man who brought you home in a cab. He’d like to talk to you.’ There was no response at all. ‘There you are,’ said Frances, giving up, ‘I told you that it was hopeless.’
‘So it would seem.’
She let go of her sister’s hands. ‘What will happen to her?’
‘That will depend on the diagnosis.’
‘I don’t mean her illness,’ said Frances. ‘Though I don’t know the full details, Agnes did something terrible in the cathedral. The police brought her home. We’ve never been in trouble before, Inspector. We’re good, law-abiding people.’
‘I’m sure that you are, Miss Impey.’
‘Will my sister have to go to prison?’
‘Oh, I don’t think there’s any danger of that,’ said Colbeck, soothingly. ‘Mrs Rossiter caused a stir but there was no actual damage. Superintendent Steel is a humane and understanding man. He’s not inclined to press charges.’
‘What about the bishop?’
Colbeck grimaced. ‘He may take a different view, alas.’ The doorbell rang. ‘Ah, that will be Dr Swift, I
