The Stationmaster's farewell

adjust to her new surroundings. But she won’t be without a friend in there. He sang the praises of the chaplain and said that he had a gift for helping people like Mrs Rossiter.’

‘Her sister is terribly upset.’

‘Have you been to see her?’

‘Yes, I did. After you suggested it, I went as soon as I could. Miss Impey feels lost and alone. It’s her house but Mrs Rossiter more or less ran it. Now that she’s gone, her sister doesn’t know how to cope. She’s afraid to step outside the door.’

‘We must invite her here,’ said Maud, sympathetically. ‘Miss Impey ought to know that there are some of us who don’t judge her sister harshly.’

‘That would be a comfort to her, Mrs Hope,’ said Colbeck. ‘In time, I trust, more reassuring news about Mrs Rossiter will come out of the asylum. I was very heartened by what I heard about the chaplain there. He’ll surely take pity on her.’

It was evening before Canon Smalley found the time to visit the new arrival. His daily round had taken him all over the asylum, offering whatever help and solace he could. As on the previous occasion, he spent a long while with Agnes Rossiter, listening to her complaints and holding her hands. There were marginal improvements. She was no longer so agitated and her rage against the Church and the god it served seemed to have abated somewhat. But she was still under the illusion that she and Joel Heygate had been destined to marry and still ranted on about her rights as his beloved. When he left her, Smalley had promised to visit her on the following day. She thanked him profusely and had squeezed his hands in gratitude.

As evening wore on, his interest shifted to Esther Leete. He had some idea what to expect because Dr Swift had shown him her file. She’d been admitted to the deaf and dumb asylum two years ago at the age of fifteen. The diagnosis had been one of melancholia at puberty. Throughout her stay, she’d been depressed. Suddenly, she’d become violent and the staff were unable to control her. Swift’s diagnosis was that she was in the grip of a mania. Unable either to speak or to hear, Esther Leete presented special problems. When he called on her, Canon Smalley saw what they were. She was being held in a locked room with a burly female nurse standing over her. Seated on the bed, the girl was strapped into a straitjacket.

Smalley disapproved. ‘Does she have to wear that?’

‘It’s what Dr Swift ordered,’ said the nurse.

‘Can’t you release her so that I can talk to her?’

‘She won’t understand a word of what you say, Canon Smalley. Besides, my orders are to keep her restrained. When she was free, she smashed a glass and tried to cut her wrists.’

‘Dear me!’ he exclaimed. ‘What pain she must be in to be driven to such an extreme.’ He approached the patient and smiled at her. ‘Hello, Miss Leete.’

‘I’d advise you not to get too close,’ warned the nurse.

‘She’s not frightened of me. I pose no threat.’

‘She’s dangerous.’

‘What about her parents?’

‘They were unable to look after her. When her father died, she became very depressed. That’s when she was taken into care.’

Smalley sat on the edge of the bed, barely a yard from the patient; Esther was studying him with glinting eyes. If her face had not been so contorted, she would have been a beautiful young woman. Smalley felt that it was cruel that she had to suffer twin disabilities. Normal life was impossible for her. She had to rely on the patience and assistance of others. Esther looked at his cassock and seemed to understand what it betokened. It did nothing to comfort her. Twisting her features into a grimace, she leapt to her feet and began to make a muffled noise of protest. The nurse grabbed her before she could kick out at her visitor.

‘There you are, Canon Smalley,’ she said. ‘I did tell you.’

He got up calmly. ‘I’ll be back,’ he said. ‘She obviously needs me.’

The diary was a revelation. It covered a period of almost two years and was rich in detail. When Colbeck examined it back in his room at the Acland Tavern, Leeming sat beside him. It took them a little time to decipher some of the abbreviations used. Once they’d done that, it was possible to read the diary like a novel, albeit one with a limited number of characters and a repetitive plot.

‘So much for the brother’s claim that he hardly ever saw Heygate,’ said Colbeck, looking at another entry. ‘This is the seventh time in a row that he called on the stationmaster. And instead of asking for money, he demanded it. And look,’ he went on, turning a page and tapping it with a finger, ‘here’s another reference. This time it’s his sister-in-law who comes in search of a loan.’

‘She’d have been put up to it by that snake of a husband.’

‘They really seem to have persecuted the stationmaster.’

Leeming was sarcastic. ‘It’s funny that they never mentioned that, isn’t it?’

‘They’re almost as dishonest as Bagsy Browne.’

‘I disagree, sir. They’re more dishonest. Browne doesn’t try to hide the fact that he’s a criminal. In fact he revels in it, whereas Heygate and his wife try to pass themselves off as decent people badly treated by someone who should have helped them. At least I caught them out telling one lie.’

‘Yes, they didn’t spend that night with friends but at the Crown Inn.’

‘You should have seen the expression on their faces when I challenged them about it,’ said Leeming with a chuckle. ‘They turned bright red.’

‘What was their explanation, Victor?’

‘Heygate claimed that the landlord of the inn was the friend they’d talked about and that he let them stay there for nothing.’

‘One lie follows another,’ said Colbeck. ‘Nevertheless, it will do no harm for you to go to the Crown Inn and test the claim. But that can wait. The diary takes priority. Most of the entries refer to birds. I hadn’t realised that there were so many different species in Devon. He’s listed dozens and dozens. Ah,’ he went on, ‘there’s a mention of Lawrence Woodford here.’

‘What sort of bird is he, sir?’

‘I think he’s some sort of vulture. No sooner was the stationmaster dead than he swooped down on the carcass.’

‘I dislike the man. What does it say about him?’

‘It just says “First warning to Woodford”, with no details of what the warning was about.’ Colbeck flipped over the pages. ‘He’s mentioned in dispatches again and this time we know why. “Second warning — bottle confiscated.” It looks as if the new stationmaster was caught drinking on duty.’

‘It’s no wonder Woodford didn’t like him.’

‘He should have been grateful, Victor. People have been dismissed for less. It’s only because Mr Heygate didn’t make an official complaint to the company that Woodford held on to his job.’

‘And now he’s strutting about like the cock of the walk.’

‘Yes, Victor. It’s because Joel Heygate is dead. Woodford is safe.’

‘So he had a very strong motive to murder him.’

Colbeck continued to flick through the diary. There were several mentions of Dorcas Hope by a man who clearly saw her as his closest friend. Agnes Rossiter, however, earned only one fleeting reference. Colbeck eventually reached the place where he’d first started and that was at the final entry. It was the day on which Heygate had been murdered. The entry was brief — ‘Visit owl.’ It meant nothing to the detectives. There were three earlier references to the bird but the only indication of its whereabouts was in the first one — ‘Barn owl near M.V.’ Colbeck was disappointed. The diary had taught them a lot about certain people but, on the most important point of all, it had let them down.

‘We must talk to Miss Hope,’ decided Colbeck.

‘Will she be able to help us, sir?’

‘She knows the city far better than we do, Victor. I’m sure she’ll be able to hazard a guess at what these initials stand for.’

‘It could be the name of a person rather than a place.’

‘That’s very true.’

‘I’ve just thought,’ said Leeming with a short laugh. ‘This diary really belongs to Michael Heygate. Do you