I’m proud of you. When you accepted my proposal, I couldn’t wait to put details of the engagement in the newspapers. Had it been left to me, it would have been in headlines on the front pages.’ She laughed with gratitude. ‘How could I be ashamed of you when you’re the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me?’
‘Is that what you’re going to tell the superintendent?’
‘Well…maybe not in exactly the same words.’
‘Why didn’t you mention it to him this morning?’
‘It would have been the worst possible time.’
‘You mean that he’s too distracted?’
‘No, Madeleine,’ he said, ‘that’s only part of the reason. The one marriage that Mr Tallis admired was that between the colonel and his wife. When he was with them, he really understood the true value of holy matrimony. Without warning, he’s confronted with the fact that their marriage might not have been as happy as he’d assumed. One of them is murdered and the other commits suicide. All sorts of secrets are being unearthed and that’s shaken him.’
‘I can see why you’d rather wait now, Robert.’
‘When this business is over, I’ll tell him immediately.’
‘Thank you. I’ll say no more on the subject.’ He kissed her then pulled her close. It was minutes before she spoke again. ‘You said that secrets are being unearthed.’
‘That’s right, Madeleine.’
‘What sort of secrets?’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘one of them concerns Doncaster.’
‘What happened there?’
‘That’s the trouble – we don’t know. I’m hoping that Victor will be able to find out. I told him to go there today.’
He was wrong. Because it was a flourishing railway town, Leeming had assumed that it would be covered in industrial grime and that, in fact, was the aspect that first presented itself to him. Alighting at the station, he found it swarming with passengers, waiting to go on the main line north or south or on the branch line to Sheffield. A goods train carrying coal went past on the through line. Other wagons were being loaded with coal in a siding. A strong breeze whipped up the coal dust and sent it flying through the air in clouds, mingling with the dense smoke from departing locomotives. The din was continual, its volume increased by the turmoil from the railway works nearby.
Yet when he went into the town itself, Leeming realised that it was a charming place with a pleasant situation on the River Don. Many of the vestiges of its time as a coaching town still remained. Its long, wide high street was an impressive thoroughfare, lined with houses, shops, inns, eating houses, banks and business premises. As he explored the town, Leeming found much to admire. Doncaster had a mansion house, a town hall, fine churches, a theatre, schools, a hospital, almshouses and other institutions for promoting the welfare of its inhabitants. New terraced housing had been built by the railway company for its employees but the serried ranks didn’t detract from the weathered graciousness of the older buildings.
Leeming’s problem was that he didn’t know where to begin. In a town with a population of several thousand, he could hardly knock on every door in search of anyone who’d known Colonel Tarleton. By the time he’d finished his initial stroll around the town, he could think of several reasons why the colonel had visited it. Many of the larger residences might have been the home of friends from the same social class. Leeming sought out one of the town constables for advice.
Claude Forrester knew exactly who the colonel was.
‘It was him what was took mad,’ he said, darkly. ‘Him what threw himself in front of that train. It were in the newspaper.’
‘That’s right,’ said Leeming. ‘Are you aware that he used to come to Doncaster quite often at one time?’
‘Lots of people do that, Sergeant.’
‘But they’re not all as distinctive as the colonel.’
‘He’d be lost in the crowd. Know your trouble? You’re searching for a grain of sand on Blackpool beach.’
Forrester was a lugubrious individual in his forties whose days in uniform had convinced him of the existence of criminal tendencies in most human beings. As they talked, his eyes flicked suspiciously at every passer-by.
‘There’s two reasons why the colonel came,’ he said.
‘He could have had friends here.’
‘That’s a third reason but I think there’s two main ones.’
‘What are they?’ asked Leeming.
‘I can see you’ve never been to Doncaster before,’ said Forrester, mentally frisking an old woman who waddled past. ‘We have one of the finest racecourses in the country on Town Moor. Come here in September when the St Leger is run and you’ll find the world and his wife in this part of Yorkshire. I know,’ he added, ‘because I’m always on duty there. Last year, almost a quarter of a million people came to Doncaster during the week of the St Leger.’
‘That’s only once a year, Constable.’
‘There’s plenty of other race meetings as well.’
‘Yes,’ said Leeming, ‘but there’s nothing to suggest that the colonel was a betting man. Besides, if he’d simply been here for the races, he’d have brought his wife. There’d be no need to be so secretive about it.’
‘Ah, now, if it’s secrecy we’re talking about,’ said the constable, ‘then I come to my second main reason.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘He was paying a visit, sir.’
Leeming was impatient. ‘I said that at the very start.’
‘He was paying a visit to a certain place.’
‘What I need to find out is where that certain place was.’
‘I could take you there, if you wish.’
‘You know where it is?’
‘I know everything about this town,’ boasted the other. ‘This particular house is where rich men go to spend their money.’
‘It’s a gambling den?’
‘They take a gamble of sorts, I suppose. They gamble that their wives won’t ever find out. I’m talking about harlotry. You should see some of our ladies of easy virtue, Sergeant. They’re quite a sight.’
‘No, thank you,’ said Leeming. ‘When I was a young constable, I raided enough brothels in London to last me a lifetime. The colonel wasn’t here for the delights of the flesh. He was a faithful husband.’
‘No? Then I can’t help you.’
‘Do you know anyone who could?’
‘No,’ said Forrester, rubbing his chin. ‘Unless you talk to Ned Staddle – but I daresay you’ve already done that.’
‘Who’s Ned Staddle?’
‘He’s the stationmaster. Got a keen eye and a good memory, for all that he’s long in the tooth. Talk to Ned and mention my name. He’s a friend.’
Leeming was glad to part from the cheerless constable. Yet the man had a useful suggestion. On his way back to the station, Leeming rebuked himself for not thinking of questioning people there when he first arrived. Since the colonel had been such a regular visitor – and since his name had been given prominence by the suicide – a member of the staff might well recall him. The sergeant soon learnt that talking to the stationmaster required a long wait. Ned Staddle was too busy controlling the traffic in and out of the different platforms to spare him a moment. Tall, skinny and with silver hair hidden beneath his hat, Staddle seemed to be in constant motion. It was only when he took his morning break that he was able to find time for Leeming.
‘Aye, I know who the colonel was,’ said the stationmaster. ‘Used to see quite a bit of him at one time.’
‘Constable Forrester said that you had a good memory.’
‘You been talking to that miserable old devil?’
‘He claimed to be a friend of yours.’
Staddle laughed. ‘He doesn’t have a friend within a hundred miles of here,’ he said. ‘If this was a village, Claude Forrester would be its idiot. Looking like that, he should have been a gravedigger.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Leeming, ‘chatting to him was a bit like attending a funeral. Putting the constable aside, can
