‘Isn’t that a more likely way for him to end his life? If, that is, he’s actually done so, and we’ve no clear proof of that. A bullet in the brain is a much quicker and cleaner way to commit suicide than by means of a railway.’
Tallis snatched back the telegraph. ‘It’s him, I tell you. And I want to get to the bottom of this.’
‘Sergeant Leeming and I can be on a train within the hour.’
‘I know, Inspector, and I will accompany you.’
‘Is that necessary?’
‘I owe it to Aubrey – to Colonel Tarleton. There has to be an explanation for this tragedy and it must lie in the death of his wife.’
‘But that’s only conjectural,’ Colbeck reminded him. ‘The letter says that she’s disappeared but no evidence is given of her demise. That’s an assumption made by the colonel. He could be mistaken.’
‘Nonsense!’ snarled Tallis.
‘There are other possibilities, sir.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well,’ said Colbeck, meeting the blazing eyes without flinching, ‘the lady might have been injured while out walking and unable to get back home. She might even have been abducted.’
‘Then a ransom note would have been received. Clearly, it was not, so we may discount that hypothesis. Only one possibility therefore remains – Miriam Tarleton has been murdered.’
‘With respect, Superintendent, you are jumping to conclusions. Even if we suppose that Mrs Tarleton is dead, it doesn’t follow that she must have been killed. Her death might have been accidental or even as a result of suicide.’
‘She’d have no call to take her own life.’
‘Can you be sure of that, sir?’
‘Yes, Inspector – it’s inconceivable.’
‘You know the lady better than I do,’ conceded Colbeck. ‘Given your knowledge of the marriage, is it also inconceivable that Mrs Tarleton is still alive and that she’s simply left her husband?’
Tallis leapt to his feet. ‘That’s a monstrous allegation!’ he yelled. ‘Colonel Tarleton and his wife were inseparable. What you suggest is an insult to their memory.’
‘It was not intended to be.’
‘Then waste no more of my time with these futile arguments. You read the letter. It’s a plea for my help and I intend to give it.’
‘Sergeant Leeming and I will be at your side, sir. If a crime has indeed been committed, we’ll not rest until it’s solved.’ Colbeck crossed to the door then paused. ‘I take it that you’ve visited Colonel Tarleton at his home?’
‘Yes, I have.’
‘How is he regarded in the area?’
‘With the greatest respect,’ said Tallis. ‘Apart from being a magistrate, he holds a number of other public offices. His death will be a terrible blow to the whole community.’
Lottie Pearl was stunned. The news of her employer’s gruesome death had left her speechless. She could not begin to comprehend how it had come about. Nothing in the colonel’s manner had given the slightest indication of what he had in mind. On the previous morning, he’d gone through his unvarying routine, rising early and taking the dog for a walk before breakfast. He’d eaten very little food but loss of appetite did not necessarily equate with suicidal tendencies. Lottie was in despair. Within weeks of her securing a coveted place there, she’d seen the mistress of the house vanish into thin air and the master go to his death on a railway line. Her prospects were decidedly bleak. When she finally recovered enough from the shock to be able to focus on the future, one question dominated. What would happen to her?
‘Lottie!’ called the housekeeper.
‘Yes, Mrs Withers?’
‘Come in here, girl.’
‘I’m coming, Mrs Withers.’
Lottie abandoned the crockery she’d been washing in the kitchen and dried her hands on her apron as she made her way to the drawing room. As soon as she entered, she came to a sudden halt and blinked in surprise. Seated in a chair beside the fireplace, Margery Withers was wearing a faded but still serviceable black dress and looked more like a grieving widow than a domestic servant. She used a handkerchief to stem her tears, then appraised Lottie.
‘You should be in mourning wear,’ she chided.
‘Should I, Mrs Withers?’
‘Do you have a black dress?’
‘No, I don’t,’ said Lottie, self-consciously.
‘Does your mother have one?’
‘Oh, yes, she does. She dyed an old dress black when Grandpa passed away.’
‘Then you must borrow it from her.’
‘What will I tell my mother?’
‘You must wear it out of respect. She’ll understand.’
‘That’s not what I mean, Mrs Withers,’ said Lottie, uneasily. ‘What am I to say to my mother about me?’
The housekeeper was puzzled. ‘About you?’
‘Yes, what’s to become of me now?’
‘Good heavens, girl!’ exclaimed the older woman in disgust. ‘How can you possibly think of yourself at a time like this? The colonel’s body is barely cold and all you can do is to flaunt your selfishness. Don’t you care what happened yesterday?’
‘Yes, Mrs Withers.’
‘Don’t you realise what the implications are?’
‘I’m not sure what you mean,’ said Lottie, regretting her folly in asking about her future. ‘All I know is that I was so hurt by the news about the colonel. He was such a decent man. I cried all night, I swear I did. And, yes, I will get that black dress. Colonel Tarleton ought to be mourned in his own home.’
Her gaze shifted to the portrait above the mantelpiece. Tarleton and his wife were seated on a rustic bench in their garden with the dog curled up at their feet. It was a summer’s day with everything in full bloom. The artist had caught the strong sense of togetherness between the couple, of two people quietly delighted with each other even after so many years. Lottie winced as she saw the smile on Miriam Tarleton’s face.
‘This will be the death of her,’ she murmured.
‘Speak up, girl.
‘I was thinking about the mistress. If ever she does come back to us – and I pray daily for her return – Mrs Tarleton will be upset beyond bearing when she learns about the colonel.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Mrs Withers, rising to her feet and looking at the portrait. ‘There’s no earthly chance of her coming back.’
‘You never know.’
‘Oh, yes, I do.’
The housekeeper spoke with such confidence that Lottie was taken aback. Until that moment, Mrs Withers had always nursed the hope of a miraculous return or, at least, had given the impression of doing so. There was a whiff of finality about her comment now. Hope was an illusion. Husband and wife were both dead. The realisation sent a cold shiver down Lottie’s spine.
‘We must prepare the guest bedrooms,’ continued Mrs Withers. ‘Word has been sent to the children so they will soon be on their way here. The house must be ready for them. Everything depends on their wishes. If one of them decides to move in here then there may be a place for you in due course, but only,’ she added, pointedly, ‘if I recommend you. So until we know what the future holds, I urge you to get on with your chores and forget about your own petty needs. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Mrs Withers,’ said Lottie, recognising a dire warning when she heard one. ‘I do.’
Victor Leeming’s dejection sprang from three principal causes. He disliked train travel, he hated spending nights away from his wife and family, and he was intimidated by the proximity of Edward Tallis. The village of South Otterington sounded as if it was in the back of beyond, obliging the sergeant to spend hours of misery on the Great
