evening but Laura knew that she would never yield up a part lightly, especially to someone she openly despised. She tried to put the other actress from her mind. Kate’s loss was Laura’s gain. She needed to seize the unexpected chance of greatness.
With opportunity, however, came fear and uncertainty. Was she ready? Did she have enough talent to be an adequate substitute for such an experienced actress? Would she let everyone down? Could she remember the lines and repeat the correct moves? She had watched Kate Linnane play the part often enough but that was not the same as taking it on herself. Would Laura Tremaine – whatever her fantasies about theatrical glory– be able to hold her own against a titan of the stage like Nigel Buckmaster? The challenge was both exhilarating and daunting. She would not simply be fulfilling her ambition of taking a leading role, she would be doing so as one of the most famous wives in world drama. In the course of that evening, pretty, young, shapely, well-spoken, respectable Laura Tremaine had to undergo a veritable transformation. Shedding the sweetness of Lady Macduff, she had to turn herself into a murderous fiend.
As she sat patiently in the hotel foyer, she felt the sheer weight of expectation. The whole company would depend on her. Her friends would will her to succeed while her enemies – and she had one or two in the company – would pray for her to fail. Every move she made and every gesture she gave would be subjected to intense scrutiny. And what would happen when Kate Linnane came back to reclaim her rightful role? However well she had played it, Laura would get neither thanks nor praise. Once the imperious leading lady had returned, her understudy would have to slink back into obscurity. It was a thought that made Laura resolve to make the most of her opportunity. She would play Lady Macbeth as if the part had been expressly written for her.
Nigel Buckmaster strode into the hotel and she jumped to her feet obediently. He did not even look at her as he went past.
‘Come to my room,’ he said. ‘We have much work to do.’
Laura followed him up the stairs as if floating on air.
Jeremiah Stockdale did not have a large force at his disposal but he managed to deploy over a dozen men in the search for the missing actress. They questioned anybody who lived or worked in the vicinity of the hotel. It was when one of the constables went to the railway station that firm evidence was at last obtained. Stockdale passed on the information to Colbeck at the police station.
‘They caught a train to London.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ said Colbeck.
‘The stationmaster remembered them clearly – a startling young woman and a man in a cloak who had her by the arm. They got into a first class carriage.’
‘That sounds like Miss Linnane.’
‘One of the porters saw them as well. He thought they were a husband and wife who’d just had a quarrel because the woman was very tense and the man brusque.’
‘I’m still surprised that she made no resistance, Superintendent. Miss Linnane is very self-possessed. I can’t imagine her letting anyone make her do something against her will.’
‘Maybe the porter was right,’ suggested Stockdale. ‘The man could have been a jealous husband who suddenly leapt out of her past. Or it might have been someone who was blackmailing her. He didn’t need to have a weapon because he was holding some guilty secret over her. That’s why she went with him. Forget what Mr Buckmaster told us,’ he said, airily. ‘In my experience, an actress is a lady with a very colourful history.’
‘It’s not a profession renowned for its saints.’
Stockdale chuckled. ‘Sinners are far more interesting.’
‘What steps have you taken?’
‘I sent two of my men after them on the next train. They can make enquiries at Paddington. It’s the second time Idris Roberts has been there this week.’
‘Of course,’ said Colbeck. ‘He was the constable who took Effie Kellow back to London. Was the body delivered to Mr Voke?’
‘Yes, Inspector – Idris saw to that. After they’d talked about funeral arrangements, he escorted Miss Kellow to her brother’s lodgings and made sure that she got the books she was after.’
‘What then?’
‘He gave her money for a cab to Mayfair and caught the train back to Cardiff. He was sad to leave her. She was so downcast.’
‘The only thing that will lift her spirits is if we catch those responsible for her brother’s murder. With luck and with the active cooperation of Mrs Tomkins,’ added Colbeck, hopefully, ‘I expect to do that this very evening.’
Winifred Tomkins did not even tell her husband that there had been a change of plan. The letter she had found outside her house had given her fresh instructions and she was determined to obey them. Her husband would only have tried to stop her or insisted that she showed the latest missive to Inspector Colbeck. She refused to do that. She had an inner conviction that the only way to get her hands on the silver coffee pot was to pay the excessive amount of money demanded. Her father had bequeathed her over eighty thousand pounds. It seemed appropriate that some of that inheritance should be spent on an item that would keep his memory fresh in her mind.
Clifford Tomkins was surprised when she ordered the carriage that afternoon. He followed her out of the house.
‘Where are you going, Winifred?’
‘I thought I’d call on Carys Evans,’ she said.
‘Is she expecting you?’
‘I promised to take tea with her one day this week.’
‘Would you like me to come with you?’
‘Don’t be silly, Clifford. You’d only be in the way.’
‘We haven’t really spoken since you came back from the bank,’ he said, worriedly. ‘What did the manager say?’
She shot him a withering look. ‘You’ll have to ask him.’
‘I hope you said nothing to my detriment. I’m held in high regard at the bank.’ She climbed into the carriage and closed the door after her. ‘Do you still mean to go through with the exchange this evening?’
‘I’ll see you later, Clifford.’
‘When shall I expect you back?’
Ignoring his question, she gave the coachman a signal and they pulled away. Once clear of the house, she felt strangely elated. There was an element of danger but it was offset by a sense of adventure. Everything she had done in her adult life had been guided by her relationship with her husband. For once she was doing something entirely of her own volition, something that he would have strongly opposed. It was a small victory and the coffee pot would forever be an emblem of that victory. She was content.
They went for a mile before they reached the designated spot, a stand of trees on the road to Fairwater. Winifred ordered the coachman to stop and the carriage rolled to a halt. Though she could see nobody, she was certain that she was being watched. She suddenly began to tremble with fear, realising how vulnerable she was. The coachman was with her but he was a slight man and unarmed. He would be no match for a desperate criminal ready to commit murder.
‘Mrs Tomkins?’ called a man’s voice.
‘Yes, yes,’ she answered aloud. ‘It’s me.’
‘Please get out of the carriage.’ She did as she was told. ‘Do you have the money with you?’
‘I do – every penny of it.’
A young man stepped out from behind a tree, his face largely obscured by the brim of his hat. Winifred gasped when she saw that he was holding a pistol in his hand.
‘Let me have the money,’ he said.
‘I want to see my coffee pot first,’ she insisted, amazed that she had the courage to say the words. ‘I’m ready to pay for it.’
‘Then here it is.’
He reached behind the tree and pulled out a large leather bag. Opening it up, he tilted it towards her so that
