The railway detectives c.., p.1
The Railway Detective's Christmas Case, page 1
PRAISE FOR EDWARD MARSTON
‘A master storyteller’
Daily Mail
‘Packed with characters Dickens would have been proud of. Wonderful [and] well-written’
Time Out
‘Once again Marston has created a credible atmosphere within an intriguing story’
Sunday Telegraph
‘Filled with period detail, the pace is steady and the plot is thick with suspects, solutions and clues. Marston has a real knack for blending detail, character and story with great skill’
Historical Novels Review
‘The past is brought to life with brilliant colours, combined with a perfect whodunnit. Who needs more?’
The Guardian
THE RAILWAY
DETECTIVE’S
CHRISTMAS CASE
Edward Marston
To George and Toni Demidowicz,
our dear friends, wonderful guides
to the Malvern Hills and its surrounding areas
CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BY EDWARD MARSTON
COPYRIGHT
CHAPTER ONE
1864
A cold December wind was scouring the platform but the hundred or more passengers waiting at the railway station were impervious to its bite. They were in such high spirits that nothing could trouble them. They had enjoyed a free cooked breakfast with a cup of hot tea to wash it down. By the time they reached the station, everyone was buzzing with excitement. Thanks to the generosity of their employer, the workers and their families were being rescued from the stink and smoke of the Black Country and taken to the scenic beauty of the Malvern Hills. It was a day they would never forget.
Presiding over the excursion was Cyril Hubbleday, the works manager, a big, solid, middle-aged man, impeccably dressed and wearing the tall, shiny top that set him apart from anyone else on the platform. Hubbleday was making his way through the waiting throng, beaming at children, smiling politely at their mothers, and nodding at the employees whose work lives he controlled.
Derek Churt saw him coming and braced himself. Arm in arm with his wife, Agnes, he had his other hand on his young son’s shoulder.
‘Say nothin’, Aggie,’ he warned his wife.
‘We ought to say thank you,’ she argued.
‘Do as I say, woman.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s not him as is paying for all this – it’s Mr Appleby.’
‘Ah, yes …’
Like her husband, Agnes Churt was short, thin and wiry. She had lost the youthful bloom that had attracted him to her years earlier, and now had pinched features and rounded shoulders. Like her husband and son, she was wrapped up warmly and wearing a scarf and gloves she had knitted. It was not long before Hubbleday came right up to them.
‘Good day to you!’ he said, raising his top hat.
‘Same to you, sir,’ replied Churt, dutifully.
‘Unless I’m mistaken, you work in a paint shop, don’t you?’
‘I do, sir.’
‘That’s right. Chort … Chart … something like that?’
‘Churt, sir. Derek Churt.’
‘Then you must be Mrs Churt,’ said the works manager, running an eye over Agnes. He bent over the child. ‘And who do we have here?’
‘It’s our son,’ explained Churt. ‘Peter.’
Hubbleday grinned. ‘Hello, Peter.’
‘Mornin’, sir,’ said the boy, responding to a nudge from his father.
‘Have you been to the Malverns before?’ asked Hubbleday.
‘I been nowhere, sir.’
‘That’s what most of the children say.’ He patted the boy on the head. ‘You look like a bright lad, Peter. Let’s hope you follow in your father’s footsteps and work for us one day. Would you like that?’
‘Yes, please, sir.’
‘Make it your goal in life.’
After patting him on the head once more, Hubbleday moved on to the next family and distributed a smile among them. Agnes waited until the works manager was out of earshot before making a comment.
‘Will there really be a job for our Peter?’ she whispered.
‘Doubt it,’ grunted her husband.
‘Mr Hubbleday said there would be, and he seems such a nice man.’
Churt curled a lip. ‘You don’t know him as well as I do.’
When the train steamed into the station and came to a halt, the passengers climbed into the compartments allotted to them with shrieks of pleasure. Hubbleday waited until they were all aboard then clambered into the compartment closest to the locomotive. Like all the other employees of the Oldbury Railway Carriage and Wagon Company there, the works manager was proud of the fact that they had built the carriages in which they were about to travel. Given the nature of the event, it was highly appropriate.
Peter Churt, meanwhile, did what all the other children were doing and stared out of the window of his compartment in sheer wonder. He had never been more than five miles from his home. Until the train was steaming along, he was unaware that, once they had emerged from the permanent dark haze under which they lived, they entered open countryside. The boy had to shield his eyes against the unexpected glare of sunshine. Other delights scudded past every second. He missed nothing. Worcester was a particular revelation to him. Against a clear sky, it looked quite beautiful. As they thundered over the bridge across the River Severn, Peter could see narrowboats moored along the banks and caught a glimpse of the racecourse nearby. The majestic cathedral drew a gasp of delight from him.
‘Why can’t we live here, Dad?’ he asked, innocently.
‘Because we can’t,’ muttered Churt.
‘Why not?’
‘We’re Oldbury folk, born and bred.’
‘It looks so clean.’
‘You heard what your father said,’ Agnes told him.
But her son’s attention had already shifted to something else of interest and he forgot that his parents were even there. It was a journey of discovery for the boy, and he wanted to relish every second of it.
Alone with his companion in their private compartment, Hubbleday removed his top hat and scratched his bald head. He had lost all trace of his former geniality and resorted to a snarl.
‘I’m starting to hate these excursions,’ he admitted. ‘It’s one thing to give the workers an occasional reward, but Mr Appleby takes it to extremes. An Easter Outing, a Whitsun Treat, a Summer Celebration and now this Christmas Party – we’re spoiling them.’
‘I agree,’ said Drake, quietly.
‘When the men are given an unnecessary holiday, we lose production.’
‘Mr Appleby believes that it helps morale.’
‘I’d prefer to keep their noses to the grindstone,’ said Hubbleday, ‘and I daresay that you feel the same.’
‘I do, Cyril,’ said Drake. ‘Far be it from me to criticise Mr Appleby, but we are a manufacturing concern. Workers are there to work – not to be given days off.’
Ernest Drake was the company accountant, a tall, anxious man in his fifties with eyes glinting behind rimless spectacles. Across his lap was a ledger that contained the names of all those on the excursion. It had been his job to allocate the compartments on the train.
‘At least we don’t have to travel with them,’ said Hubbleday, scornfully. ‘That would be unbearable. The men stink of mothballs, the women reek of cheap perfume and their ugly, snotty-nosed children have no idea how to behave themselves.’
‘It was wise of you to insist on a private compartment,’ said Drake.
‘We deserve some privileges, Ernest.’
‘I’m grateful to you.’
‘We’re managers. They need to be reminded of that.’
Settling back, he stretched out a hand and absentmindedly stroked the top hat beside him as if he were fondling a favourite cat. He soon went off into a reverie. Drake, meanwhile, opened his ledger and took out a copy of the seating plan he had devised. He unfolded it with care. On arrival, they would all be taken on a ride through the Malvern Hills before arriving at Appleby Court. The visitors would then be shown to their places in the dining room by Drake. He had inked in every name with care. As befitted their position, he and Hubbleday would be seated at the top table with the Appleby family.
When they eventually entered a series of cuttings, daylight was replaced by dark shadows and the stunning vistas disappeared. There was another disappointment. Though they were still short of their destination, the train began to slow dramatically. Hubbleday was jerked out of his daydream.
‘What’s going on?’ he demanded.
‘I don’t know,’ said Drake.
‘This line was supposed to be clear for us.’
‘Perhaps there’s a reduced speed limit for some reason.’
‘Something’s happe
ned,’ said Hubbleday, getting to his feet. ‘Look – we’re slowing by the second.’
‘I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,’ said Drake.
‘Then I want to know what it is.’
‘All will soon become clear, Cyril.’
‘We have a strict timetable. We must stick to it, or everything is thrown out of kilter. During previous excursions, the trains always ran like clockwork. Why is this one letting us down?’
‘It hasn’t let us down yet.’
‘Can’t you feel what’s happening, man? We’re grinding to a halt.’
‘I think you’re right.’
Drake knew how dangerous it was to argue with the works manager. If his opinion were challenged, Hubbleday could be fiery and vengeful. It was safer to agree with him. Besides, it was now obvious that the train did intend to stop. It began to rock, hiss, squeal deafeningly and shudder, spreading alarm throughout the carriages. Then, without warning, it came to a jarring halt, throwing Hubbleday forwards. He thudded against the wall panel opposite and cursed aloud.
Regaining his balance, he was quivering with fury. After putting on his hat, he flung open the door and, with considerable effort, jumped down beside the line, finding that they had stopped in a deep cutting. He stormed to the front of the locomotive where the driver and fireman were standing.
‘What the devil is going on?’ yelled Hubbleday.
‘There’s an obstruction, sir,’ explained the driver, indicating with his finger. ‘Someone put sleepers across the track.’
‘We’re expected to arrive on time.’
‘We can’t move until those sleepers are shifted, sir.’
‘Then go and move them at once.’
‘We have to wait for the guard first,’ said the driver. ‘Here he comes.’
He pointed towards the rear of the train where a figure had jumped out of the brake van and was hurrying towards them. Hubbleday’s only interest was in the obstruction thirty yards ahead of them. The sleepers were flanked by two large red flags, signalling danger. Prompt action by the driver had saved the excursion train from almost certain derailment. Instead of praising the man, however, Hubbleday started to blame him for the delay. His howls of rage were short-lived. A shot suddenly rang out and the works manager fell instantly to the ground with blood streaming down his face and with a gaping hole in his top hat.
CHAPTER TWO
Robert Colbeck was seated behind the desk in his office, reading a newspaper report of their latest success in bringing a killer to justice. Victor Leeming, meanwhile, was crouched in front of the grate, warming his hands on the little fire crackling bravely away. The sergeant gave an involuntary shiver.
‘I’m still freezing,’ he complained.
‘Run around the block a few times,’ suggested Colbeck. ‘That will make you feel as warm as toast.’
‘It’s chilly out there.’
‘I hadn’t noticed.’
‘Don’t you ever feel the cold?’
‘Yes, of course, but I try to ignore it.’
‘You’re not human, Inspector.’
‘Fortunately,’ said Colbeck with a smile, ‘I have a dear wife who assures me on a regular basis that I am extremely human. The truth is that I’m too busy to notice the weather.’
‘Well, I notice it,’ said Leeming, ruefully. ‘My teeth are chattering.’
Before he could launch into a recitation of his woes, he was interrupted by the arrival of Edward Tallis. Without bothering to knock, the superintendent opened the door and walked into the room, bringing a draught of cold air with him. Leeming crouched even closer to the fire.
‘Ah, good,’ said Tallis. ‘I’ve caught you together. I have an important new assignment for the pair of you. You must go to the Worcestershire at once.’
‘Christmas is just over a week away, sir,’ protested Leeming, standing up. ‘We need to celebrate it at home. Think of our families.’
‘I’m thinking of the family of the murder victim. They need the reassurance that someone will find and arrest the man responsible for his death.’
‘How much detail do you have, Superintendent?’ asked Colbeck.
‘Very little beyond what is written here,’ said Tallis, waving a telegraph in the air. ‘A man was shot dead beside a railway track. We must respond at once. It’s unfortunate that it comes during the festive season but there is good news to lessen the disappointment.’
‘We’ll be pleased to hear it, sir.’
‘I will be coming with you, Inspector.’
Leeming goggled. ‘You call that good news?’
‘Indeed, I do,’ said Tallis. ‘I am killing two birds with one stone, so to speak. I’ll not only be able to lead the investigation, I’ll have the pleasure of visiting Great Malvern to see if it really is such an ideal place for retirement.’
Colbeck was astonished. ‘You are considering retirement?’
‘None of us can go on indefinitely, Inspector.’
‘But we’ve always regarded you as a permanent fixture here.’
‘Fresh blood is needed from time to time in any organisation,’ said Tallis, briskly. ‘I would have thought you’d welcome my departure. It creates a vacancy, and nobody is more suited to fill it than you.’
Colbeck exchanged a glance with Leeming. Both had been shaken by the news. While they resented the stern military discipline that Tallis imposed, they recognised that he was a conscientious and efficient leader. Leeming was particularly alarmed. The decision meant that Colbeck would almost certainly be promoted, depriving the sergeant of his best friend. Their record of success as a team was unmatched in the Metropolitan Police Force. Leeming did not relish the idea of working with an inspector of less ability and, perhaps, with a more hostile attitude towards those ranked beneath him. There could be trouble ahead.
Colbeck took a more realistic view. When he studied the superintendent, he could see that Tallis’s long years in the army and his subsequent dedication to law enforcement in the capital had taken their toll. The man looked old, weary and lacking the sense of duty he had always exuded. There had also been a period when Tallis had been forced to take time off to recover from a worrying illness that was as much mental as physical. On his return, he seemed to have renewed energy and purpose, but neither was visible now. He was a shadow of his former self.
‘Are you unwell, sir?’ asked Colbeck, solicitously.
Tallis stiffened. ‘Do I look unwell?’
‘No, no, sir, but this talk of retirement is worrying. Has it been prompted by medical advice?’
‘It’s been prompted by the relentless passage of time.’
‘Then you should stay here and rest,’ suggested Leeming. ‘The last thing you should do is to put yourself through the rigours of a murder investigation. Leave it to younger men like us.’
‘Are you daring to give me advice?’ asked Tallis, eyelids narrowing.
‘All that the sergeant meant,’ said Colbeck, coming to the latter’s rescue, ‘is that this is the wrong time of year to visit somewhere like the Malverns. You should see the area at its best in the summer, not when its inhabitants are about to hibernate throughout winter.’
‘The decision has been taken, Inspector. We will go there together.’
‘As you wish, sir.’
‘I know that you prefer to work alone but, with my help, you’ll be able to solve the crime in half the usual time.’
‘Wouldn’t you be better off staying here, sir?’ asked Leeming. ‘London is seething with crime. This is where you’re really needed, not charging off to the countryside in answer to a hopeful summons.’
‘It was not a summons,’ said Tallis. ‘It was a demand.’
‘Whoever sent the telegraph had no right to demand anything of us. What sort of a man is he?’
‘The telegraph did not come from a man. It was sent by a woman – Lady Emily Foley, to be exact. And, judging by her tone, she expects her orders to be obeyed at once. Let us go and find out why, shall we?’
Lady Emily Foley was a tall, stately woman in a fur coat and fur hat. Now approaching her sixtieth birthday, she was the daughter of the 3rd Duke of Montrose and had inherited his aristocratic mien. Having married into the Foley family in her late twenties, she had lost her husband after a mere fourteen years and, as a result, taken control of extensive estates in Staffordshire, Herefordshire and Worcestershire. She also became Lady of the Manor of Great Malvern and she never, for a moment, let anyone forget it.
