Colbeck had brought an ordnance survey map of the area and he unfolded it on a low table, smoothing it out with the flat of his hand. Agnes leant over to peer at it.
‘Here,’ she said, pointing at a spot beyond South Otterington. ‘This is the house. They would have left there and followed the track to the village. After that, they’d come this way.’ Her finger traced the journey. ‘When they reached this point here, Miriam would have parted from Aubrey – from the colonel – and kept to a path that zigzags its way before eventually straightening out.’
‘It’s not all open countryside,’ noted Leeming, interpreting the symbols. ‘There’s a wood marked here and I daresay there are odd copses dotted about.’
‘That’s quite right, Sergeant,’ she agreed.
‘In addition to that,’ said Colbeck, ‘there’d be bushes and trees along the margins of the fields and perhaps a hollow or two. There are probably several places where someone could ambush a passer-by. Did Mrs Tarleton have no fear of walking here alone?’
‘None whatsoever,’ said Agnes, ‘and the same goes for me. I’ve done that walk on my own many times and so had she. Neither of us had the slightest fear. This is a law-abiding part of the county. We can come and go in complete safety.’
‘That’s good to hear,’ said Leeming. ‘You couldn’t say that about some of the districts we visit in London. You take your life in your hands when you walk down some streets.’
‘The situation here is very different, Sergeant,’ said Colbeck. ‘The murder – if indeed that’s what it was – is all the more shocking for being such an unusual event. Mrs Tarleton was caught off guard.’
‘What could have been the motive, Inspector?’
‘We can’t hazard a guess until we find the body. Presumably, she’d have been carrying a handbag and wearing jewellery of some description. If all that is missing, then theft might be the motive.’
‘I don’t want to hear any other suggestions,’ said Agnes, hands to her ears. ‘I just pray that she was not molested in any way. I couldn’t bear that thought. My husband says that I must try to put it out of my mind the way that he does when he’s at work. But I find it impossible to do that. A few weeks ago we had two wonderful friends. One of them has disappeared and the other was mangled by a train. How can I put such horrors out of my mind?’
‘You can’t, Mrs Reader. You have too many emotional ties to the victims. It’s only right and proper that you should dwell on their deaths. I know that your husband feels the loss deeply as well. His position at the bank requires him to put on a brave face,’ said Colbeck, ‘but we could see that he was suffering inside.’
‘Bertram has been my salvation,’ she confided. ‘I don’t know how I would have borne up without him. He’s had to find the strength to keep both of us from sinking into absolute despair. And yes, he has suffered. He loved them as much as I did. He’s just better at hiding his feelings than I am.’
‘He told us that, on the day in question, he got back here to find you in great distress.’
‘He was late home that evening because he’d been to see a client in Darlington. By that time, I was sick with worry. Bertram wanted to ride over to the house to make sure that all was well and to put my mind at rest. For some reason,’ she admitted, ‘I wouldn’t let him. I convinced myself that, if anything unpleasant had happened to Miriam, her husband would have sent word. Oh dear!’ she wailed, a hand to her mouth. ‘I’ll have to go through it all again at the inquest tomorrow. I’m not sure that I’ll be able to manage it.’
‘I’m sure that you will, Mrs Reader,’ said Leeming.
‘And so am I,’ added Colbeck. ‘You’ve done splendidly here with us and you’ll do the same in public.’ He folded up his map. ‘We’ll intrude on your grief no longer.’
‘The pain is all the more searing because we don’t know what befell Miriam that day. Until the truth comes out, I’ll never be able to mourn her properly.’ She turned moist eyes upon Colbeck. ‘We’ve been everywhere but the search has so far been in vain. Is there any hope at all that you can find her, Inspector? Is there any hope that we’ll finally know the truth?’
Touched by her plight and by the ravaged beauty of her face, Colbeck weighed up the evidence he had already gathered.
‘I think that I can guarantee it,’ he said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It had been a full day for Madeleine Andrews. After sending her father off to work, she’d cleared away the breakfast things and checked what was in the larder before making her shopping list. She then let in the woman who came to clean the house and dressed to go out, taking a large basket with her as she walked towards the market. Buying the week’s rations never seemed like a chore to Madeleine because she always met friends with whom she could chat and she invariably called in on her aunt. Afternoon was given over to her work and she spent a long time at her easel, bringing another vivid railway scene painstakingly to life on the canvas. Only when the light began to fade a little did she abandon her art, turning instead to the latest novel borrowed from Robert Colbeck.
Mrs Gaskell’s Cranford diverted her for an hour or so with its charming portrayal of events in a quiet Cheshire village, describing, as it did, a leisurely existence that had great appeal to her. It certainly bore no relation to the more hectic metropolitan world in which she lived. Madeleine was still engrossed in the book when she heard familiar footsteps on the pavement outside. Caleb Andrews had returned from Euston after his usual stop at a public house frequented by fellow railwaymen. He was in an affable mood when she let him in, taking off his cap and coat before slipping into the kitchen to wash off some of the day’s grime.
‘Supper will be ready soon,’ she told him.
‘It can wait until you’ve read the article.’
‘What article is that?’
‘The one about Inspector Colbeck, of course,’ he said, popping his head around the door. ‘Well, it’s not exactly about him but he’s mentioned in it.’
‘Where?’ she asked, seizing the rolled-up newspaper from the pocket of his coat. ‘What page is it on?’
‘Where else would it be but the front one?’
She saw the headline. ‘Is it this one about suicide in Yorkshire?’
His head vanished. ‘That’s it, Maddy.’
She recoiled with dismay when she read the article because it went into unabashed detail about the injuries sustained by Colonel Tarleton. While she was pleased to see a word of praise for Colbeck’s record of solving crimes relating to railways, she was sorry that he was involved with such a grisly event. It was a long article and she read it through twice. Face and hands now scrubbed, Andrews came out of the kitchen.
‘It’s something we all fear, Maddy,’ he said. ‘We’re all afraid that some fool will step out in front of us one day when we’re driving along at top speed. It could happen to any of us.’
‘The colonel was no fool, Father. He was an educated man and, according to this, he had a distinguished military career. It seems that he took his life because his wife was missing, presumed dead.’
Andrews nodded. ‘He has my sympathy. I know what losing a wife can do to you.’ He put a grateful arm around her. ‘This fellow didn’t have a daughter like you to help him through it.’
‘He has a daughter and a son. They must be horrified.’
‘Don’t forget the driver. He’s probably suffering badly as well.’
‘What made the colonel choose that way to die?’
‘Madness – it’s the only explanation. Why didn’t he shoot himself if he couldn’t carry on? Or why didn’t he drown himself in a river? That’s what I thought of doing.’
‘Father!’ she scolded.
‘It was only on the day of the funeral, Maddy,’ he said, holding up an apologetic palm. ‘It was when I realised that I’d never see your mother again that I had a moment of weakness. Luckily,’ he went on, brightening, ‘I had you to make me see sense and I’ve found a new life – for a while, anyway.’