‘I don’t find letting sheep out very amusing, sir.’
‘Neither do I,’ said Colbeck. ‘Some of them could have been attacked by dogs or even rustled. Mr Bruntcliffe could have cost the farmer a lot of money.’
‘Michael had the last laugh,’ said Tarleton. ‘It’s all that mattered to him. The farmer kept out of his way after that.’
‘When did you last see your friend, sir?’
‘Oh, it was years ago.’
‘So you didn’t keep in touch at all?’
‘Not really, Inspector.’
‘But you seem to have been good friends.’
‘We were for a time.’
‘Why did the friendship fall off?’
‘I left here and forged a new life for myself in London.’
‘Do you have any idea where Mr Bruntcliffe is?’
‘No,’ said Tarleton, ‘and I don’t care. Michael is part of my past. With the inquest pending and the funerals to organise, I’ve got enough to keep me fully occupied. I just don’t have time for old friends. To be absolutely candid, I want to forget all about the North Riding. I can’t wait to get away from here for good.’
While she was waiting for her father to come home, Madeleine was not idle. After preparing his supper, she read another chapter of Cranford then took out Colbeck’s letter once more and pored over it. Simply holding it in her hand gave her a thrill and its sentiments warmed her to the core. The village of South Otterington was clearly very different from the one in Cheshire evoked in such detail by Mrs Gaskell. Violent death did not disturb the even rhythm of life in Cranford. Colbeck had said little about the events in Yorkshire but she’d gathered something of what had been happening there from the newspaper reports. The description of the suicide had been horrific and she’d felt sick at the thought of Colbeck having to exhume a rotting body in the wood. He took such events in his stride and Madeleine wondered if the time would ever come when she could cultivate the same indifference to morbid tasks. When they were married, she felt sure, she’d learn a great deal from him and, in turn, teach Colbeck certain things.
Caleb Andrews returned slightly earlier than usual, having trotted much of the way to escape the rain that started to fall. He let himself into the house, kissed his daughter then took off his coat and hat. Before he could stop her, Madeleine had taken the newspaper from his pocket.
‘It’s on the back page,’ he told her. ‘Everybody up there thinks that the colonel shot his wife.’
‘Robert doesn’t think that. Sergeant Leeming told me.’
‘The local people knew the colonel, Maddy. They could turn out to be right. For once in his career, the inspector may have made a big mistake – apart from travelling on the Great Northern Railway.’
Madeleine laughed. ‘How else could he get there?’ she said. ‘In any case, he didn’t go all the way on the GNR. The stretch between York and Darlington is operated by the Great North of England Railway. Robert mentioned that in his letter.’
‘What about your letter to him?’ asked Andrews. ‘Did you manage to deliver it to Sergeant Leeming?’
‘Yes, I met him at King’s Cross.’
‘Does that mean you’ll be here for breakfast tomorrow?’
‘I’ll be here,’ she said, still reading the newspaper. ‘According to this article, the investigation is faltering. That’s not true.’
Andrews went into the kitchen to wash his hands. Madeleine followed him in so that they could eat their supper together.
He was in a teasing mood. ‘Did you do what I suggested?’
‘And what was that, Father?’
‘When you wrote your letter, I wanted you to tell him to get a move on with the wedding arrangements. I may be making some arrangements of my own in the near future.’ He wiped his hands dry. ‘I hope that you mentioned that to the inspector.’
‘You know quite well that I didn’t.’
‘Then you can put it in your next letter, Maddy, and there’s something you can add about that book he loaned you.’
‘ Cranford?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘I didn’t know that you’d read it.’
‘I’ve been reading a chapter a night after you’ve gone to bed.’
‘It’s so interesting, isn’t it?’
‘I thought it was boring.’
‘But it shows you the pleasures of life in a country village.’
‘If that’s all the pleasure you get, I’ll stay here in Camden.’
‘Well, I love the book,’ she said, levelly.
‘That’s because you’re a woman, Maddy,’ he told her, sitting at the table. ‘There’s nothing in it for a man. Tell the inspector you’d like something by Dickens next time, something with murder in it to add a little spice. That’s what I like to read late at night.’
It was dark by the time they reached South Otterington. After returning the horse and trap to the place from which they’d hired it, the detectives strolled towards the Black Bull. Colbeck savoured the sense of tranquillity. He inhaled deeply.
‘The air is so much cleaner here than in London,’ he noted.
‘That makes no difference, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘I could never settle here. There are too many things I couldn’t stand.’
‘Give me an instance.’
‘Take the way they speak. They all sound funny to me.’
Colbeck smiled. ‘We probably sound funny to them, Victor. What you hear is the genuine Yorkshire accent. I find it very pleasant.’
‘Well, I don’t, Inspector. It grates on my ears. Some of them are not too bad – Mr and Mrs Reader, say, or young Mr Tarleton – but the rest talk in a sort of foreign language. Sergeant Hepworth is the worst. I couldn’t listen to that voice, day in and day out.’
‘His wife has no choice. My guess is that his is the only voice you can hear when he’s at home. He loves to hold forth.’
‘I hope we don’t find him in the bar again this evening.’
‘So does the landlord. Hepworth is bad for business.’
As they approached the pub, Colbeck noticed someone lurking in the shadows nearby. At first, he thought it was someone waiting to ambush them and he got ready to repel any attack. In fact, when they got closer, the figure withdrew completely. Saying nothing to Leeming, the inspector followed him into the bar, handed him his top hat then walked straight through the rooms at the rear of the building and let himself out into the yard. He unlocked the door in the high stone wall and let himself out as quietly as he could. Creeping along, he reached the corner and peeped carefully around it. Colbeck could just make out the shape of someone, crouched furtively against the wall as if waiting to pounce on a passer-by.
The inspector sensed trouble and sought to nip it in the bud. Easing his way around the corner, he moved on tiptoe until he got within reach of the man, then he dived forward, gripped him tightly and pinioned him to the wall.
‘What are you doing here?’ asked Colbeck.
The man struggled to get away. ‘Nothing, sir – let me go.’
‘You’re up to no good.’
‘Is that you, Inspector?’ said the other, respectfully.
Colbeck recognised the voice. ‘Moxey?’ He let his prisoner go. ‘I didn’t realise it was you.’
‘That’s all right, sir.’ The labourer turned to look at him with obvious unease. ‘I’m sorry to cause you any bother, sir. I’ll have to get back to the farm.’
‘No, no, stay here. You came to see me, didn’t you?’
‘It was a mistake,’ said Moxey. ‘I changed my mind.’
‘Well, I’m not letting you go now that you’re here,’ said Colbeck. ‘The first thing I insist on doing is to buy you a drink. You brought us vital information and that deserves a reward.’
The labourer smiled. ‘Oh, I see.’
‘Come on, let’s go inside.’
Before Moxey could resist, Colbeck put an arm around his shoulders and shepherded him into the bar. Leeming was already seated at a table with drinks for himself and Colbeck. The inspector ordered a pint of beer for their visitor then took him across to the table. He knew that Moxey had come to see him and lost his nerve at the last moment. The first task, therefore, was to make the labourer relax. It wasn’t easy. Moxey was overawed. He’d never shared a drink with two gentlemen from London before and couldn’t believe they were so friendly to him. His awkwardness slowly faded. Colbeck let him get halfway through the pint before questioning him.