as if not knowing whether to venture out or not.
He was solicitous. ‘Is something wrong, my dear?’
‘No, no,’ she replied, mustering all her strength. ‘Don’t worry about me, Bertram. I’m fine now.’
Taking his arm, she walked towards the waiting trap.
To make sure that the rector abided by his orders, Colbeck got to the church early with Leeming in tow. They saw a knot of people in the middle of the churchyard and went over to them. The stone cross lay on the ground, its impact so strong that it had bitten deeply into the grass. Colbeck noted the inscription on the plinth.
‘It’s an act of God,’ said one woman. ‘It’s because it was put here by the colonel.’
‘Aye,’ said another, ‘God has sent us a message.’
‘I think that you’ll find that God confines his messages to the inside of the church,’ said Colbeck. ‘This was done by a human being. It was a deliberate act of vandalism.’
‘Clearly, someone doesn’t like the colonel,’ said Leeming. ‘It would have needed a strong man to pull that down, Inspector.’
‘He used a rope. Look – you can see the marks here.’ Colbeck pointed to some nicks in the stone. ‘There must have been two of them.’ He explored the ground nearby and saw hoof prints. ‘I was right, Victor, there were two of them – a man and a horse. This is where the animal stood when it took the strain.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Leeming, standing beside him. ‘The prints are deeper here where the horse dug in its hooves as it heaved.’
‘This must have been done at night. When I went past here yesterday evening, the cross was upright. I remember seeing it.’
‘At least it wasn’t broken in the fall.’
‘No,’ said Colbeck, ‘but it’s already attracting far too much attention. I don’t want the Tarleton family to see this. Let’s put it back where it belongs.’
Removing his hat and coat, he handed them to a bystander and Leeming did the same. When he saw what they planned to do, a burly farmer offered his help, taking off his hat and coat before giving them to his wife. Getting the cross upright was relatively easy. Lifting it back onto the plinth, however, took a little more time and effort. They were fortunate. There had been a clean break so, once they’d managed to lift it between them, it was only a question of manoeuvring it back into position. It tapered outwards at the base and slotted securely back into its original position. After thanking the farmer, Colbeck used a handkerchief to wipe his hands.
‘It needs to be secured with mortar,’ he said. ‘Now that it’s back up again, I don’t think anybody would be stupid enough to try to push it over.’ He collected his coat and hat. ‘Thank you to everybody. Could you please move away now or people will wonder what’s going on?’
The small crowd drifted away, one of the women still claiming that it was an act of God. Leeming heard her.
‘Well, I wish that an act of God had put it back again,’ he said, pulling on his coat. ‘That thing was heavy.’
‘We all have our cross to bear,’ said Colbeck, dryly, ‘and I’m not referring to the superintendent.’
He was about to turn towards the church when he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. An unkempt youth was sitting on a low tombstone, playing with toy soldiers. Since he was wearing rough clothing and a crumpled cap, he was patently not a churchgoer. What interested Colbeck was that he was showing such intense concentration, moving the metal soldiers about with slow deliberation. The detectives walked across to him and had a surprise. What they had mistaken as soldiers were spent shotgun cartridges.
‘Good morning,’ said Colbeck, amiably.
The youth looked up at him. ‘Mornin’, sir.’
‘Do you always play in the churchyard?’
‘No room in ’ouse.’
There was no need to ask his name. As soon as they saw his face with its large, vacant eyes and narrow forehead, they knew that it was the railway policeman’s son.
‘You must be Sam Hepworth,’ said Colbeck.
‘Aye, sir.’
‘How old are you, Sam?’
‘Sixteen.’
‘That’s a bit old to be playing with soldiers,’ said Leeming.
‘I like ’em, sir.’
‘Where did you get the cartridges from?’
‘Shootin’ parties, sir. I carry guns.’
‘You’ve got quite a collection here.’
‘There’s more at ’ome, sir. Our Dad says there’s too many.’
‘That would be Sergeant Hepworth, then.’
‘Aye, sir.’
Colbeck felt sorry for the boy and not only because he was saddled with a father who’d browbeat him unmercifully. Sam obviously had some disabilities. His speech was slurred, his movements slow and his eyes seemed to wander ungovernably. Yet, at the same time, he was a direct link with a man about whom they had suspicions. Unlike his father, Sam Hepworth had an open face and a complete lack of guile. There was a benign simplicity about him.
‘Are you going to church, Sam?’ asked Colbeck.
‘No, sir. Our Dad don’t like rector.’
‘Oh, I see. Is there any reason?’
‘Aye, sir.’
‘Well – what is it?’
‘Rector’s too bossy, like.’
‘I noticed that,’ said Leeming. ‘And your father didn’t think highly of Colonel Tarleton either, did he?’
‘No, sir,’ replied Sam.
‘Why was that?’
‘Same reason.’
‘You mean that he was too bossy?’
‘Aye, sir.’
Sam’s attention went back to the private battle he was fighting and he moved various members of his two armies. They watched him for a while then turned to go. Sam’s voice piped up.
‘Sent letters, like.’
Colbeck swung round. ‘What was that?’
‘Our Dad sent letters, sir.’
‘Letters?’
‘Aye, to colonel.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Leeming, moving to kneel beside him. ‘Is that what your father told you?’
‘No, sir, it were our Ginny.’
‘She’s your sister, isn’t she?’
‘Aye, sir.’
‘What did she tell you, Sam?’
‘Ginny took letters there.’
‘Where?’
‘To big ’ouse, sir – it’s where colonel lived.’
‘Do you know what was in the letters?’ asked Colbeck.
‘No, sir – can’t read.’
‘Why did your sister deliver the letters? Why didn’t your father take them himself?’
Sam needed time to separate the two questions in his mind. It required an effort. While he was waiting, he shifted a couple of the soldiers on the tombstone. At length, he supplied an answer.
‘Our Ginny knew way there,’ he said.
‘I know,’ said Colbeck. ‘She used to work at the house.’
