The excursion train, p.11
The Excursion Train, page 11
‘Narcissus Jones told everyone about it, Inspector. That’s the kind of man he is – unlike the governor. Henry Ferriday would never tell tales about what happens behind those high walls. He’s more secretive.’
‘If Hawkshaw struck out at the chaplain,’ noted Colbeck, ‘he must be inclined to violence. Yet you say he’d no record of unruly behaviour.’
‘None at all, Inspector.’
‘What caused the animosity between him and Dykes?’
‘All sorts of things.’
‘Such as?’
‘Emily, for start.’
‘Emily?’
‘Nathan Hawkshaw’s daughter. Dykes tried to rape her.’
When he first came to his senses, Victor Leeming was lying in a cesspit surrounded by jeering children. There was blood down the front of his jacket and every part of his body was aching violently. Through his swollen lips, he could not even muster the strength to shout at those who were enjoying his misfortune. In trying to move, he set off some fresh spasms of pain down his arms and legs. His body seemed to be on fire. It was the foul smell and the humiliation that finally got him out of there. Braving the agony, he hauled himself upright, relieved to find that he could actually stand on his own feet. While he gathered his wits, the children subjected him to another barrage of abuse. Leeming had to swing a bruised arm to get rid of them.
A frail old woman took pity on him and explained that there was a pump in a nearby street. Dragging himself there, he doused himself with water in order to bring himself fully awake and to get rid of the worst of the malodorous scum in which he was coated. When he slunk away from the pump, Leeming was sodden. Since no cab would dare to stop for him, he had to trudge all the way back to Whitehall in squelching boots, afraid that he might be accosted in the street by a uniformed constable on suspicion of vagrancy. Because of the smell, everyone he passed gave him a wide berth but he eventually got back to Scotland Yard.
Brushing past a couple of amused colleagues, he dived into the washroom, stripped to his underclothing and washed himself again from head to foot. He could not bear to look in a mirror. When he saw the bruises on his body, his first thought was how his wife would react to the hideous blotching. His sole consolation was that nothing appeared to be broken although his pride was in dire need of repair. The discarded suit was still giving off an appalling stink so he bundled it up, gathered the other items of clothing and peeped out of the door. Seeing that the coast was clear, he tried to make a dash for his office but his weary legs would only move at a slow amble. Before the injured detective could reach safety, a bristling Edward Tallis suddenly turned into the corridor and held his nose in horror.
‘Damnation!’ he exploded. ‘Is that you, Leeming?’
‘Yes, Superintendent.’
‘What on earth is that repulsive stench?’
Leeming sniffed the air. ‘I can’t smell anything, sir.’
‘Well, everyone within a mile can smell you. What have you been doing, man – crawling through the sewers?’ He saw the bruises on the Sergeant. ‘And how did you get those marks on your body?’
‘I was assaulted,’ said Leeming.
‘By whom?’
‘Two men in Bethnal Green. They knocked me unconscious.’
‘Dear me!’ said Tallis, mellowing instantly. ‘You poor fellow.’
Showing a compassion that took Leeming by surprise, he moved forward to hold him by the arm and help him into the office that the Sergeant shared with Inspector Colbeck. The Superintendent lowered the stricken detective into a chair then took the suit from him so that he could dump it in the wastepaper basket. After opening the window to let in fresh air, he returned to take a closer look at Leeming.
‘No serious injuries?’ he inquired.
‘I don’t think so, sir.’
‘Let me send for a doctor.’
‘No, no,’ said Leeming, embarrassed to be sitting there in his underclothing. ‘I’ll be fine, sir. I was lucky. All I have are aches and pains. They’ll go away in time. I just need to put on some clean things.’
‘These, meanwhile, can go out,’ decided Tallis, grabbing the wastepaper basket and tipping its contents unceremoniously through the open window. ‘I’m sorry but I found that stink so offensive.’ He replaced the basket beside the desk. ‘Why don’t I give you a few minutes to get dressed and spruce yourself up?’
‘Thank you, Superintendent.’
‘Comb your hair before you come to my office.’
‘I will, sir. I didn’t mean to turn up in this state.’
‘Was it an unprovoked assault?’
‘Yes and no,’ said Leeming, ruefully. ‘I think I upset someone when I asked a wrong question.’
‘Well, I shall want to ask a few right ones in due course,’ growled Tallis, resuming his normal role as the established martinet of the Detective Department. ‘The first thing I’ll demand to know is what the blazes you were doing in Bethnal Green?’
‘Making inquiries, sir.’
‘About what? No, no,’ he said, quickly, stopping him with a raised palm before he could speak, ‘I can wait. Make yourself presentable first. And dab some cold water on those lips of yours.’
‘Yes, Superintendent.’
‘I’ll expect you in ten minutes. Bring the Inspector with you. I’ve no doubt that he’ll be as interested as I am to hear how you got yourself in that condition.’
‘Inspector Colbeck is not here at the moment.’
‘Then where the devil is he?’
‘In Maidstone.’
‘Maidstone!’ echoed the other. ‘He’s supposed to be solving a crime that took place in an excursion train at Twyford. Whatever has taken him to Maidstone?’ He shuddered visibly.‘You don’t need to tell me that. Inspector Colbeck has developed another theory, hasn’t he?’
‘Based on sound reasoning, sir.’
‘And what about your visit to Bethnal Green?’ asked Tallis with undisguised sarcasm. ‘Was that based on sound reasoning as well?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You and I have something in common, Sergeant.’
‘Do we, Superintendent?’
‘Yes, we do. We’re both martyrs to the Inspector’s predilection for wild and often lunatic theories. So,’ he said, pulling out his cigar case from an inside pocket, ‘he decided to go to Maidstone, did he? I suppose that I should be grateful it was not the Isle of Wight.’
The return journey gave Robert Colbeck valuable thinking time. As the train rattled along, he reflected on what he had learnt from his visit to Kent. Henry Ferriday and the Reverend Narcissus Jones had explained with dramatic clarity how the hangman’s performance on the scaffold had embedded a fierce hatred in the family and friends of the condemned man. On his two previous visits to the town, Guttridge must have acquitted himself fairly well in order to be invited back a third time. It was to prove his downfall. Colbeck had no doubt whatsoever that the murder in the excursion train had been committed by someone who was in the crowd outside Maidstone prison on the fateful day.
Obadiah Lugg had also been a useful source of information.He was not only keen to describe how he had arrested Nathan Hawkshaw and taken him into custody, he was able to show his visitor copies of the local newspapers that contained details of the case and lurid accounts of the execution. Like the hangman, Lugg was a man who hoarded souvenirs of his work but, in the case of the chuckling Sergeant, they were far less disturbing. Along with the other members of the Maidstone police force, and supported by dozens of special constables, Lugg had been on duty during the execution of Hawkshaw and gave his own testimony to the ineptitude of the hangman and the effect that it had on an already restive crowd.
What interested Colbeck were the contradictory assessments of Hawkshaw’s character and he struggled to reconcile them. As a butcher, the man had been liked and respected, leading an apparently blameless existence and causing no problems for the two constables representing law and order in Ashford. During his arrest, however, he had to be overpowered by Obadiah Lugg and the two men whom the Sergeant had wisely taken with him in support. At the prison, too, Hawkshaw had resorted to violence at one point though – having met Narcissus Jones – Colbeck could well understand how the chaplain’s robust Christianity might prove irksome. Yet the same man who had struck out in frustration at an ordained priest had elected to pray on the scaffold before he was hanged. Was he an innocent man, searching for divine intervention in his hour of need, or had he finally admitted guilt before God and begged forgiveness for his crime?
It was clear that those who knew Hawkshaw best had a genuine belief in his innocence, an important factor in Colbeck’s judgement of the man. Yet the evidence against him had been strong enough to support a death sentence and, according to all the reports of the trial that the detective had read in Lugg’s collection of newspapers, Hawkshaw had been unable to account for his whereabouts at the time of the murder. It was a point that the prosecution team had exploited to the full and it had cost the prisoner his life.
Robert Colbeck was a former barrister, a man who had abandoned the histrionics of the courtroom to grapple with what he considered to be the more important tasks of preventing crime wherever possible and hunting down those who committed it. He could see from the newspaper accounts that Hawkshaw had not been well defended by his barrister and that all the publicity had gone to the flamboyant man who led the prosecution. Wanting to know much more about the conduct of the trial, Colbeck made a note of his name and resolved to contact him.
Tonbridge flew past the window of his first-class carriage but the Railway Detective was too lost in thought to notice it. He spared only a glance as they steamed through Redhill, his mind still engrossed by the murder of Joseph Dykes at Lenham and its relationship to a calculated killing on an excursion train. One thing was undeniable. Nathan Hawkshaw had motive, means and opportunity to kill a man he loathed. Since his daughter had been the victim of a sexual assault by Dykes, it was only natural that the butcher would confront him. Whether that confrontation led to a murderous attack, however, was an open question.
When he reached London, Colbeck had still not decided whether an innocent or a guilty man had gone to the gallows in Maidstone. The prison governor had insisted that the case was firmly closed now that Hawkshaw had been executed. The Inspector disagreed. It was time to resurrect the hanged man. One way or another – however long it might take – Colbeck was determined to find out the truth.
‘How are you getting on, Maddy?’ asked Caleb Andrews, standing behind her to look at the painting. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, patting her on the back in appreciation, ‘that’s good, that’s very good.’
‘I’ll have to stop soon. It’s getting dark.’
‘Sit beside the oil lamp.’
‘I prefer natural light. I can see the colours properly in that.’
‘You have a real gift, you know.’
‘That’s what Robert said.’
Madeleine stood back to admire her work, glad of her father’s approval because he would not judge her work on artistic merit. As an engine driver, his concern was with accuracy and he could find no fault with her picture of a famous locomotive. After adding a touch more blue to the sky against which the Lord of the Isles was framed, she dipped her brush in a cup of water to clean it.
‘You’ll be painting in oils next,’ said Andrews.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘I prefer watercolours. Oils are for real artists.’
‘You are a real artist, Maddy. I think so and I know that Inspector Colbeck does as well. He’s an educated man. He knows about these things. I’m proud of you.’
‘Thank you, Father.’
‘That’s the Lord of the Isles and no mistake,’ he went on, slipping an arm around her shoulders. ‘You’ve painted everything but the noise and the smell of the smoke. Well done!’
‘It’s not finished yet,’ she said, moving away to take her paints and brush into the kitchen. She came back into the living room. ‘I just hope that Robert likes it.’
‘He’ll love it, Maddy – or I’ll know the reason why!’
Andrews laughed then watched her take the painting off the easel before standing both against the wall. He had always got on well with his daughter and enjoyed her affectionate bullying, but he knew that a time would come when she would inevitably move out.
‘Has the Inspector said anything to you?’ he wondered, idly.
‘About what?’
‘Well…’ He gave a meaningful shrug.
‘About what?’ she repeated, looking him in the eye.
‘Something that a handsome man and a pretty young woman usually get round to talking about.’
‘Father!’
‘Well – has he?’
‘Robert and I are just friends.’
‘That’s all that your mother and me were until she let me kiss her under the mistletoe one Christmas,’ he remembered with a fond smile. ‘The trouble was that her parents came in and caught us. Her father gave me such a talking to that my ears burnt for a week. People were very strict in those days and I believe it was a good thing.’ He shot her a quizzical glance. ‘Do you think I’m strict enough with you, Maddy?’
‘You’re the person who needs a firmer hand,’ she said, giving him a peck on the cheek, ‘not me. And I’ve no complaints about the way you brought me up. How many other daughters have been allowed to sneak on to the footplate of a locomotive as I once was?’
‘I could’ve lost my job over that.’
‘You took the risk because you knew how much it meant to me.’
‘And to me, Maddy. It was something we could share.’ He sat down on the sofa. ‘But you didn’t answer my question.Have you and the Inspector got any kind of understanding?’
‘Yes,’ she replied with a touch of exasperation, ‘we understand that we like each other as friends and that’s that. Robert is too involved with his work to spare much time for me and I’m too busy running this house and looking after you.’
‘At the moment.’
‘Please!’
‘Things could change.’
‘Father, will you stop going on about it?’
‘Well, I’m bound to wonder. He’d make a fine catch, Maddy.’
‘Listen to you!’ she cried. ‘When I first met Robert, you kept telling me not to waste my time on someone who was out of my reach. He was above me, that’s what you said. Too good for a girl from Camden.’
‘That was before I got to know him proper. He may look fine and dandy but his father was only a cabinetmaker, a man who worked with his hands. I can respect that.’
‘Try respecting me for a change.’
‘I always do.’
‘No, you don’t, Father,’ she said, vehemently. ‘Left to you, I’d have been married off to Gideon Little, a fireman on the railway, somebody who suited you, regardless of what I felt about him. Now you’re trying to push me at another man you like. Don’t you think that I have the right to choose my own husband?’
‘Calm down, calm down,’ he said, getting to his feet.
‘Then stop badgering me like this.’
‘I was curious, that’s all.’
‘Robert and I are good friends. Nothing more.’
‘It always starts out that way.’
‘Nothing more,’ she insisted. ‘You must believe that.’
‘Oh, I do, Maddy, but I can’t ignore the signs.’
‘What signs?’
‘Him taking you out in that cab, for a start.’
‘It was only for a ride,’ she said, careful to say nothing about the visit to Hoxton. ‘What was wrong with that?’
‘Only that it’s strange that a detective in the middle of a murder investigation can find time to take anyone for a ride in a hansom cab. Some of the neighbours saw him pick you up from here. They told me how attentive he was.’
‘Robert is a gentleman. He’s always attentive.’
‘Then there’s the other signs,’ he pointed out, marshalling his case. ‘The ones you can’t hide, no matter how much you try.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The way your voice changes when you mention him. The way your face lights up when he calls here. And look at that painting you’ve been working on,’ he added, indicating it. ‘When someone spends that amount of time and effort on a present for a man, he begins to look like more than a friend.’
‘Robert loves trains, that’s all.’
‘There – you have a bond between you.’
‘Father—’
‘I’ve got eyes, Maddy. I can see.’
‘Well, will you please stop looking!’ she shouted.
Caught on a raw spot, Madeleine was torn between anger and embarrassment. It was no use asking her father to accept the situation because she did not fully comprehend it herself. When her emotions were in a tangle, however, the last thing she needed was to be questioned about her friendship with Robert Colbeck. Unable to contain her fury, she snatched up the painting and fled upstairs. Andrews heard her bedroom door slam shut. Annoyed with himself for upsetting her, he nevertheless felt able to sit down with a wry smile.
‘I must remember to get some mistletoe for Christmas,’ he said.
Even in the uncertain light from the gas lamp, Colbeck could see the damage inflicted on his face and, when Leeming got up to greet him, the Sergeant let out a grunt of pain. It was late evening when the Inspector got back to his office in Scotland Yard and he was distressed to find his colleague in such blatant discomfort. There was also a faint but very unpleasant whiff coming from him.
‘What happened, Victor?’ he asked.
‘I saw seven stars at the Seven Stars,’ said Leeming, laughing at his own feeble joke. ‘I was fool enough to mention the name of Jake Bransby and took a beating for it.’
‘How badly were you hurt?’
‘I’ll live, Inspector – just about. The Superintendent was so worried that he wanted to call in a doctor to examine me. Mr Tallis also made me wash three times but I still can’t get rid of that stink.’
‘How did you acquire it in the first place?’
