Ellerby chuckled. ‘Yes, it is, as a matter of fact,’ he admitted. ‘Luckily, I had some beer inside me and that always fires me up.’
‘What was the argument about?’
‘I can’t remember all the details. I was too drunk at the time. But it was something to do with getting him home when his horse went lame. What did he expect me to do?’ asked the stationmaster. ‘Get between the shafts and pull the bloody trap for him? In any case, I was off duty that night so nobody was going to order me about. All he had to do was bang on the blacksmith’s door but that was beneath him. He ordered me to fetch another horse. When I refused, he was furious and told me he’d get the company to sack me. I forget what I said exactly,’ said Ellerby, grinning broadly, ‘but it did the trick. He went storming off in a rage.’
Colbeck warmed to the stationmaster. His red cheeks, bloodshot eyes and purple-veined nose hinted that he was a heavy drinker but it didn’t seem to impair him in the exercise of his duties. When at work, he was polite, affable and efficient. From the cheerful way passengers had greeted him, Colbeck had seen how popular the little man was. What was not visible was the truculent streak that allowed Ellerby to take on a man who was effectively the local squire.
‘I’ve been talking to the colonel’s housekeeper,’ said Colbeck. ‘On the day he committed suicide, he told her that he was catching a train to Doncaster.’
‘Oh, he often did that at one time, Inspector.’
‘It seems an odd thing to do. Doncaster is pre-eminently a railway town. When the Great Northern Railway built their works there, they increased the population by thousands. They took over completely. I wouldn’t have thought the town held any interest for the colonel.’
‘Nor me,’ said Ellerby, ‘but he went there fairly regular. Well, until a year or so ago, he did. All of a sudden, he stopped. I always assumed he must have a friend there – a retired army man like him.’
Colbeck was not persuaded. ‘Who would choose to spend his retirement in Doncaster? Think of the noise and the clouds of smoke coming from the Plant. Then there’s the stink of industry. It’s hardly a restful place to live.’
‘The colonel must have had his reasons for going there.’
‘What about his wife? Did she ever accompany him?’
‘No,’ said Ellerby. ‘They rarely travelled together. While her husband went south, Mrs Tarleton used to go north from time to time. She had a cousin in Edinburgh. She won’t be catching the train to Scotland again.’
‘By now, I daresay, all of her relations will have been informed of the tragedies that occurred here. You’ll soon have a lot of fresh faces coming to the village.’
‘When will the funerals be held?’
‘Not until after the inquest into Mrs Tarleton’s death.’
‘They’ll be buried side by side in the churchyard, no doubt.’
‘Actually,’ said Colbeck, ‘there is a doubt.’
‘They’re husband and wife. They must be together.’
‘There’s no problem with regard to Mrs Tarleton. She’ll be buried with full Christian rites in consecrated ground. The colonel’s case is somewhat different, alas. He committed suicide and that is anathema to certain people. They feel that it’s wrong for him to be buried in the churchyard.’
‘They can’t stop it happening, though, can they?’
‘Only for a short while, Mr Ellerby,’ Colbeck assured him. ‘Once resistance is overcome, husband and wife will lie side by side.’
Husband and wife knelt side by side at the altar rail in St Andrew’s church. Hands clasped in prayer and heads bent in humility, Frederick and Dorcas Skelton sent their pleas up to heaven in unison. Less than a decade earlier, the church had been rebuilt in its original Norman style. The result was striking. Its nave was divided from its north aisle by three moulded arches rising from slender, round pillars. The church boasted a chancel, a square tower and a porch, all finished in decorated stone. Both the pulpit and the lectern were extravagantly ornamented with deeply recessed arches and zigzag or dog-tooth moulding. It was an archetypal House of God and its two occupants were statues of Christian virtue.
It was the rector who got up first, rising to his full height before genuflecting to the cross. His wife soon followed, making light of the twinges in her knees. Having entered in silence, they also left without a word being spoken. Only when they reached the privacy of the rectory did Skelton finally initiate a conversation.
‘We must be steadfast,’ he insisted.
‘I agree, Frederick,’ she said.
‘And we must move to persuade others of the rightness of our cause. The churchwardens will support me, naturally. I can always rely on their loyalty. But there must be many like-minded people hereabouts. Bringing them together will put us in a stronger position.’
‘My only concern is for the children.’
‘They must accept my decision, Dorcas.’
‘They’ll find it hard to do so, especially as it comes from their godfather. They’ll feel let down. It would be much easier if only one funeral were involved,’ she pointed out with her telltale sniff. ‘Unfortunately, there are two. What you are telling them is that one of their parents is welcome to be buried here, but not the other.’
‘The colonel was not their father.’
‘He was to all intents and purposes, Frederick.’
‘Not in my eyes,’ he said, using both hands to brush back his mane. ‘When her first husband died, I believe that Miriam should never have remarried, least of all to someone as worldly as the colonel. She should have embraced widowhood, as I’m sure you would have done in the same circumstances.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said, dutifully.
‘It would have shown respect for her deceased spouse. After all, their union had been blessed. They had two children. Miriam had everything that a woman needs. Why did she even think of taking another husband?’
‘She told me that it was a question of security.’
‘Yet she had money of her own and was well provided for.’
‘I didn’t mean it in that way,’ she explained. ‘She wanted the security of a father for the children, someone who’d offer love and support.’
Skelton was critical. ‘Well, he certainly offered support,’ he said, ‘I’ll give him that. As for love, I remain unconvinced. I don’t think the colonel loved anything except shooting game and sending people to prison for their crimes.’
‘I’m sure that Miriam loved him – in her own way.’
‘But did he love her, Dorcas? That’s what I ask. I saw no sign of true devotion to his wife. What little affection he could muster was lavished on Eve.’ An eyebrow arched. ‘I fancy that we both know why he didn’t waste any of it on Adam.’
‘Adam doesn’t deserve affection,’ she said, sharply.
‘Now, now, my dear, show some Christian forbearance.’
‘He’s so exasperating, Frederick.’
‘That was largely because he was in rebellion against the colonel. His character may have improved with the passage of time. Adam is more mature now. All of a sudden, he has responsibilities. It could be the making of him.’
‘I hardly think so. I watched him at the inquest. He still had that same sullen look about him.’ She put a hand on his arm. ‘He could make trouble for you.’
‘I’m not afraid of Adam Tarleton.’
‘Eve might accept your judgement but her brother certainly will not. He’ll fight you tooth and nail, Frederick.’
‘Please, Dorcas,’ he said, reprovingly, ‘that’s a very ugly image. We’re not wild animals, competing for a bone. The whole business can, I remain hopeful, be conducted with rational argument. Even someone as defiant as Adam Tarleton will come to see that I have moral authority on my side.’
She was anxious. ‘What about the law?’
‘I obey the law of the Almighty.’
‘And if you are overruled?’
‘I have faith that I won’t be, Dorcas.’
