comfort to her but it did not still her apprehensions completely. She was now alone. The death of her husband had cut her off from the only regular human contact she had enjoyed. She had now been delivered up to strangers.
Closing her eyes, she offered up a prayer for the soul of the deceased and coupled it with a plea that his killer should soon be caught, convicted and hanged. In her mind, one life had to be paid for with another. Until that happened, she could never rest. While the murderer remained at liberty, she would forever be tortured by thoughts of who and where he might be, and why he had committed the hideous crime.
Hoxton was to blame. She was fervent in that belief. Disliking and distrusting the area, she wished that they had never moved there. The tragedy that, from the very start, she felt was imminent had now taken place. The irony was that it had prompted a display of sympathy and generosity among her neighbours that she had never realised was there. In losing a husband, she had gained unlikely friends.
She was still lost in prayer when she heard a knock on her door. The sudden intrusion alarmed her. It was as if she had been shaken roughly awake and she required a moment to gather herself together. A second knock made her move towards the front door. Then she hesitated. What if it were someone who had discovered she was the wife of Jacob Guttridge and come to confront her? Should she lie low and ignore the summons? Or should she answer the door and simply brazen it out? A third knock – much firmer than the others – helped her to make her decision. She could hide no longer behind her maiden name. It was time to behave like the woman she really was – the widow of a hangman. Gathering up her skirt, she hurried to the door and opened it wide.
Louise Guttridge was so astonished to find her son standing there that she was struck dumb. He, too, was palpably unable to speak, seeing his mother for the first time in three years and unsure how his visit would be received. Michael Guttridge looked nervous rather than penitent, but the very fact that he was there touched her. Louise's feelings were ambivalent. Trying to smile, all that she could contrive was a grimace. He cleared his throat before speaking tentatively.
'Hello, Mother.'
'What do you want?' she asked, suspiciously. 'Have you come here to gloat?'
'Of course not.' He sounded hurt. 'May I come in?'
'I don't know, Michael.'
'But I'm your son.'
'You were – once.'
And she scrutinised him as if trying to convince herself of the fact.
'I knew that you'd need my advice,' said Caleb Andrews, nudging his elbow. 'Whenever there's a crime on the railway, bring it to me.'
'Thank you for the kind offer,' said Colbeck, amused.
'How can I help you this time, Inspector?'
'Actually, it was Madeleine I came to see.'
'But I'm the railwayman.'
'Stop playing games, Father,' said his daughter. 'You know quite well that Robert would not discuss a case with you.'
'All right, all right,' said Andrews, pretending to be offended. 'I know when I'm not wanted. I'll get out of your way.'
And with a wink at Madeleine, he went off upstairs to change out of his driver's uniform. Left alone with her, Colbeck was able to greet her properly by taking both hands and squeezing them affectionately. For her part, Madeleine was thrilled to see him again, glad that she had taken the precaution of wearing her new dress that evening. Colbeck stood back to admire it and gave her a smile of approval.
'We saw your name in the newspaper,' she said. 'I can see why the Great Western Railway asked for you.'
'It's a double-edged compliment. It means that the investigation falls into my lap, which is gratifying, but – if I fail – it also means that I take the full blame for letting a killer escape justice.'
'You won't fail, Robert. You never fail.'
'That's not true,' he admitted. 'I've made my share of mistakes since I joined the Metropolitan Police. Fortunately, I've been able to hide them behind my occasional successes. Detection is not a perfectible art, Madeleine – if only it were! All that we can do is to follow certain procedures and rely on instinct.'
'Your instinct solved the train robbery last year.'
'I did have a special incentive with regard to that case.'
'Thank you,' she said, returning his smile. 'But I don't think that I was your only inspiration. I'd never seen anyone so determined to track down the men responsible for a crime. Father was very impressed and it takes a lot to earn a word of praise from him.'
'He's so spry for his age.'
'Yes, he's fully recovered from his injuries now.'
'He's looking better than ever. And so are you,' he added, standing back to admire her. 'That dress is quite charming.'
'Oh, it's an old one that you just haven't seen before,' she lied.
'Everything in your wardrobe becomes you, Madeleine.'
'From someone like you, that's a real tribute.'
'It was intended to be.' They shared another warm smile. 'But I haven't asked how your own career is coming along.'
'It's hardly a career, Robert.'
'It could be, if you persist. You have genuine artistic talent.'
'I'm not so sure about that,' she said, modestly.
'You have, Madeleine. When you showed me those sketches you did, I could see their potential at once. That's why I introduced you to Mr Gostelow and he agreed with me. If you can learn the technique of lithography, then your work could reach a wider audience.'
'Who on earth would want to buy prints of mine?'
'I would for a start,' he promised her. 'What other woman could create such accurate pictures of locomotives? Most female artists content themselves with family portraits or gentle landscapes. None of them seem to have noticed that this is the railway age.'
'From the time when I was a small girl,' she said, 'I've always done drawings of trains. I suppose that it was to please Father.'
'It would please a lot of other people as well, Madeleine. However,' he went on, 'I didn't only come here for the pleasure of seeing you and talking about your future as an artist. I wanted to ask a favour.'
'Oh?'
'It concerns this murder on the excursion train.'
'How can I possibly help?'
'By being exactly what you are.'
'The daughter of an engine driver?'
'A kind and compassionate young woman,' he said. 'It fell to me to break the news of her husband's death to his widow, and I did so as gently as I could. In the circumstances, Mrs Guttridge bore up extremely well, almost as if she'd been preparing for such an appalling event. One can understand why. Her husband had been attacked twice before.'
'Was he injured?'
'Quite seriously.'
'I still don't see where I come in, Robert.'
'Let me tell you,' he said, taking her arm to move her to the sofa and sitting beside her. 'I had the distinct feeling that Mrs Guttridge was holding something back from me, something that could actually help the investigation. I don't think that she was deliberately trying to impede me but I was certain that she did not tell me all that she could.'
'The poor woman must have been in a state of shock.'
'It's the reason that I didn't press her too hard.'
