‘Those were gifts that John Feeny bought her and the wedding ring that had belonged to his mother. Apart from that, all she had were a few letters from that friend of Feeny’s in Ireland.’
‘Jerry Doyle?’
‘Yes,’ said Madeleine, opening the drawer of the sideboard. ‘I asked if I could show them to you but they won’t be of any real use. The writing is spidery and there’s just gossip about the stables.’ She took out the items and handed them over. ‘See for yourself, Robert.’
‘Thank you,’ he said. He read the note. ‘What’s this?’
‘Something that Mr Dowd gave to him when he started there,’ she replied. ‘It was proof that he’d worked at one of the leading Irish stables and he wanted to hang on to that. It was a form of certificate.’
Colbeck scrutinised the note. ‘Dowd wrote this himself?’
‘Yes, Robert.’
‘Are you certain of that?’
‘That’s what Bonny told me,’ she said. ‘I had such hopes that she might bring something that turned out to be valuable evidence but she didn’t – just two badly written letters and that short note.’
‘Come here,’ he said, taking her in his arms.
‘Why?’
‘Because I want to give you a kiss.’
‘Yes, please,’ she said, responding warmly then looking up at him in surprise. ‘What made you want to do that, Robert?’
‘This is much more than a mere note,’ he said, waving it triumphantly in the air. ‘It’s a confession.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
The pilgrimage began at dawn. Derby Day was an unpaid holiday, a joyous release from the workaday world, a national celebration, a glorious opportunity for revelry. People descended on the racecourse from all directions. The road from London to Epsom was a scene of amiable chaos as tens of thousands made the journey on foot, on horseback or seated in an astonishing array of horse-drawn vehicles, ranging from the meanest donkey-cart to the finest carriage. The journey was as much a part of the carnival as the races and it produced all the excesses of which human beings were capable.
There was constant beer-swilling, gormandising, cheering, jeering, good-humoured fighting, whirlwind flirtation, raucous singing and general ribaldry. The long trek was also punctuated by accidents, arguments and the inevitable collapse of overloaded carts or coaches. Musical instruments of all kinds added to the continuous din and self-appointed entertainers displayed their talents whether invited to do so or not. The endless procession was a thing of wonder in itself, watched by crowds who could not go to the Derby but who nevertheless wanted to be part of an unique annual experience.
On the following day, newspapers would give accounts of the journey to Epsom as well as of the races themselves and reporters were busy collecting anecdotes or noting incidents along the way. In the shared joy of travel, there was enough material for a three-volume novel let alone for a column in a newspaper. Any hideous injuries incurred
Edward Tallis was at once shocked and mesmerised by it all, aghast at the air of wild abandon yet unable to take his eyes off it. Seated in a cab beside Victor Leeming, he found new reasons to issue arrest warrants at every turn.
‘Look at those delinquents throwing stones at each other,’ he said, pointing an index finger. ‘They should be taken into custody. So should that woman on top of the beer cart – she’s virtually naked! We can’t have females disporting themselves in public like that.’
‘Everything is tolerated on Derby Day, sir,’ said Leeming.
‘Not by me.’
‘People want some fun.’
‘That’s permissible,’ said Tallis, ‘as long as it stays within the bounds of decency and the embrace of the law.’
From the moment they set out from London, the superintendent had regretted his decision to travel by cab. He had simply not realised how slow their progress would be or how beset by what he saw as rampant criminality. When a fat old lady hopped nimbly off a cart, lifting her skirt and spreading her legs to urinate, Tallis winced in disgust. Leeming, however, was savouring it all. Though he was obliged to travel with his superior and endure his ceaseless moaning, he was in relative comfort and spared a journey by rail that he would have hated. A bandage encircled his head but it was hidden beneath his hat. The cab came to a sudden halt.
‘What’s happening now?’ asked Tallis.
‘There’s a toll-gate ahead, sir,’ said Leeming.
‘We are from Scotland Yard – we should be waved through.’
‘We’d have to get there first and, as you see, we’re hemmed in on all sides. We just have to wait in the queue.’
‘I want to get to Epsom.’
‘Be patient, sir. They sometimes have a brawl or two at toll-gates and that always holds us up.’
‘Brawling in public? That must be stopped.’
‘Then you’ll need to speak to the owners of the toll roads,’ said Leeming, ‘for that’s the root of the problem. Whenever Derby Week comes round, they always put up the prices to make large profits. Somebody refuses to pay and a scuffle takes place.’ The cab jerked forward. ‘Ah, we’re on the move again.’
They soon drew level with members of a brass band, marching in ragged formation and playing ear-splitting melodies that were hopelessly out of tune. The remorseless pounding of the bass drum made Tallis quake.
‘How long will the pandemonium last?’ he cried.
‘You may find it’s even noisier when we get there, sir.’
‘Nothing can be worse than this!’
‘They say there’ll be upwards of sixty thousand people on the Downs this afternoon. That means a real uproar. Don’t worry, sir. You’ll get used to it after a while.’
‘Never – this is purgatory!’
Edward Tallis was not all bluster and protest. When Leeming had reported the attack on him at the racecourse, the superintendent had been sympathetic and suggested that they travel to Epsom together so that Leeming would be spared the violent jostling at the railway station. Tallis shot his companion a look of concern.
‘How does your head feel now, Sergeant?’
‘It still aches a bit,’ admitted Leeming, removing his hat to put a tender hand to the back of his skull. ‘Yesterday it was agony.’
‘I can well believe that.’
‘When I regained consciousness, I thought at first I’d been the victim of a robbery but nothing had been stolen. I was knocked out to stop me following Hamilton Fido.’
‘We’ll have that rogue behind bars before the day is out.’
‘It will be very difficult to prove, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘There were plenty of witnesses and they gave me a description of my attacker before he vanished into the crowd. All in vain, I fear. He’ll probably never be seen on the course again so there’s no way to link him to Mr Fido.’
‘We’ll find a way,’ said Tallis dourly. ‘I’m not having my men assaulted in broad daylight. Besides, the bookmaker lied to you and to Inspector Colbeck. Misleading the police is something of which I take a very dim view. Fido swore that he had no communication with Kitty Lavender yet you saw them embracing.’
‘I saw a woman I
‘Do you believe that he’ll give us a truthful answer?’
‘No, Superintendent.’
