‘Did you issue no warnings from the pulpit?’
‘I said that they should be exposed and imprisoned for their crime,’ recalled Skelton. ‘I’d show them no mercy.’
‘Then we find ourselves in an awkward situation,’ said Colbeck, taking out the letter from his pocket. ‘This was the last message of hatred sent to the colonel. He died without opening it.’ He proffered the envelope. ‘Do you wish to read it, sir?’
‘Of course I don’t.’
‘Is that because you know its contents?’
Skelton frothed with outrage. ‘I find that remark both ill-mannered and insulting.’
‘What about you, Mrs Skelton?’ asked Colbeck, offering it to her. ‘Would you care to read it?’
‘No, Inspector,’ she replied, firmly, ‘I would not.’
‘You seem to be playing a silly game with us, Inspector,’ said Skelton, ‘and I must ask you to stop.’
‘Oh, it’s not a game,’ said Colbeck, pulling the card from his pocket. ‘This was sent to Agnes Reader in acknowledgement of some flowers she kindly bought for the church. I was struck by the curious similarity between the writing on the card and the letter.’
‘It’s pure coincidence.’
‘But you haven’t seen them side to side.’
‘I don’t need to, Inspector.’
‘I’m sure that Mrs Skelton will know why they are similar,’ said Colbeck, noting the guilty blush in her cheeks. ‘If I brought paper and pen, I daresay she could produce something that’s also eerily similar.’
‘I’m sorry,’ asserted Skelton, getting to his feet, ‘but I must ask you to leave. I’ll not have you hurling these vile accusations at my wife. Your behaviour has been unpardonable. Dorcas would never dream of composing the kind of letter to which you refer.’
‘I accept that, sir. But because Mrs Skelton wouldn’t dream of putting such filthy innuendoes on a sheet of stationery, it must have been dictated to her – by you.’
‘How dare you!’ howled Skelton.
‘He knows, Frederick,’ said his wife, quivering.
‘Be quiet!’
‘There’s no need to berate your wife,’ said Colbeck. ‘After all, she was only obeying her husband when she wrote these words. You couldn’t possibly do it yourself, of course, because you’ve often had correspondence with the colonel and he would have identified your hand at once.’ He looked at Dorcas. ‘How many did you send?’
‘Five,’ she replied.
‘I told you to be quiet!’ snarled the rector.
She was appalled. ‘You’ve never spoken to me like that before.’
‘Just do as I say.’
‘I always do, Frederick.’
‘We seem to have reached an interesting point,’ said Colbeck, savouring the flash of marital dissension. ‘One of you is ready to admit culpability and the other one denies it.’
‘My wife admits nothing,’ said Skelton. ‘I speak for her.’
‘Are you telling me that she wrote neither of these messages?’
‘That’s exactly what I’m telling you.’
Colbeck got up. ‘Then it will be instructive to see if you maintain the pose of innocence when you’re asked the same question under oath in a court of law.’
Skelton attempted to brazen it out, meeting his visitor’s gaze with silent defiance. When he glanced at his wife, however, he saw that she was in great distress, exuding a guilt and remorse she was unable to hide. Questioned by a lone detective, she’d blurted out a confession. Under cross-examination in court, she’d be hopelessly unable to tell a succession of lies. Skelton’s nerve began to fail him. One of his eyelids began to flicker and he shifted his stance. When his wife began to sob, he knew that he was lost. Putting an arm around her, he looked at Colbeck with a loathing that was edged with respect.
In a short space of time, Skelton’s life had been transformed. Fifteen minutes earlier, he’d stood in his pulpit like a minor prophet dispensing wisdom to lesser mortals. He’d taken up arms in what he believed was a moral crusade and was ready to smite all who opposed him. At a stroke, he’d been deprived of his weapons and forced into ignominious surrender. Further humiliation would follow.
‘What do I have to do?’ he asked, dully.
‘The first thing you have to do is to instruct your curate to take the service tomorrow,’ said Colbeck.
‘But it’s my church with my congregation.’
‘That makes no difference, sir.’
‘I’ve already written my sermon. My wife listened to it.’
‘I did,’ she said through her tears. ‘It was inspiring.’
‘What you both did to the colonel was less than inspiring,’ said Colbeck with quiet intensity. ‘If your congregation knew the depths to which you were prepared to sink, they’d be sickened.’
‘I felt impelled to do it,’ bleated Skelton, grasping wildly for extenuation. ‘The colonel was a man of many faults, as Miriam found out to her cost. She was blessed in her first husband and cursed in her second. He killed her, Inspector,’ he said. ‘As sure as I’m standing here, the colonel murdered his wife and it was my bounden duty to arraign him for the crime.’
‘But that’s not what you did, sir, was it? Not having the courage to write and sign your own letter, you passed the burden to Mrs Skelton. That’s shameful,’ said Colbeck with scorn. ‘What sort of a husband hides behind his wife like that? What sort of a man makes a woman write foul words and coarse phrases that must never have entered her head before?’
‘It’s true,’ said Dorcas. ‘I hated writing those letters.’
‘They were necessary, my dear,’ argued Skelton.
‘They were necessary for you, sir,’ said Colbeck, ‘because you had so much bile to unload. When the killer is caught – and he soon will be – you’ll realise that you denounced an innocent man then tried to forbid him access to your churchyard.’
‘He mustn’t be buried here. It would be a sin.’
‘As I said at the start, that’s academic. The decision is no longer in your hands. It will be taken by someone with more compassion and with more knowledge of the law of the land.’
Skelton sagged. ‘Will you ruin me, Inspector?’
‘You brought ruin upon yourself,’ Colbeck pointed out, ‘and the tragedy is that you tainted your own wife in the process.’
The rector looked down at Dorcas with a mixture of apology and despair. Years of exerting unquestioned authority over her had come to an end. The woman who’d loved, honoured and obeyed him in every particular had been dragged down to a level that degraded her. He realised how it must look to a dispassionate observer. A hint of shame at last crept into his eyes.
‘What will happen to us?’ he asked.
‘That’s a matter for the archbishop,’ said Colbeck.
Skelton shuddered. ‘You’ll tell him about this, Inspector?’
‘That’s your prerogative, sir. When you compose your letter of resignation, you must explain it how you will. I can’t find the words for you,’ said Colbeck with studied coldness, ‘and, on this occasion, Mrs Skelton will not be able to write on your behalf.’
Caleb Andrews could not believe his ears. Though he came home to receive a welcoming kiss and knew that a tasty supper awaited him, he was stopped in his tracks by the news that his daughter had spent part of the day travelling on the Great Northern Railway.
‘Inspector Colbeck had no right take you,’ he protested.
‘I only went as far as Peterborough and back,’ she said.
‘Going to King’s Cross was far enough, Maddy.’
‘It was such a lovely surprise.’
‘Well, it’s come as a nasty shock for me. I don’t like the idea of you charging off to a different part of the country without a moment’s notice. Inspector Colbeck should’ve given you more warning. For a start,’ he said, ‘I
