‘Thank you, Cleary,’ she said. ‘You can let go of me now, Agnes.’
‘You’re not to stay out for long, Mother.’
‘I just want to be able to breathe again.’
‘Take good care of her, Cleary,’ said Agnes.
‘Yes, Miss Quayle,’ he replied.
Cleary was a tall, thin, lithe man in his thirties with a gaunt face and a dark complexion. Though he’d been born in the area, he had a slightly foreign look to him. After helping his mistress into the carriage, he put a blanket over her legs even though it was a warm day. Agnes watched as he climbed up on the box seat and used a whip to set the horses in motion. As the vehicle swept off, its wheels made a loud scrunching noise on the gravel that sounded almost sacrilegious near a house of mourning.
Agnes went back into the building in search of her younger brother. She found him in what had once been their father’s study, poring over some documents. When he looked up at her, she gave a sigh of despair.
‘I couldn’t stop her, Lucas.’
‘We must give Mother her head.’
‘She can be so determined.’
‘It’s a family trait,’ said Lucas Quayle. ‘You don’t build empires with a faint heart. Everything that Father achieved would have been impossible without Mother. Until her health collapsed, she helped him a great deal in the early days. That’s why it was such a strong marriage.’
Agnes made no reply. Talk of marriage always embarrassed her. Shorn of her own chances by her lack of appeal to the male sex, she’d been compelled to look after her mother and put up with the old lady’s idiosyncrasies. Nobody else in the family, she felt, understood how unfair it was on her. She got scant reward and was taken for granted by everyone. She recalled how quickly her mother had abandoned her to take Cleary’s arm instead. That kind of petty rebuff had happened a hundred times. It might, however, be about to end soon.
‘The doctor is very worried about her,’ she said.
‘We’re all worried, Agnes.’
‘He doesn’t think she’s taking the tablets he’s given her.’
‘You should know if that’s the case.’
‘I can’t stand over her every minute of the day, Lucas.’
‘No, no, I accept that.’
‘It’s almost as if she’s … inviting death.’
‘Don’t be melodramatic.’
‘Her behaviour has been so weird since we learnt about Father.’
‘I suspect that all our behaviour has been like that, Agnes. I know that mine has. I’ve been swinging between grief and anger like a pendulum. And you’ve seen how tense Stanley has become. It’s an abnormal situation,’ said Lucas. ‘We’re bound to react in abnormal ways.’
Agnes nodded. She could talk to Lucas in a way that was impossible with her other siblings. While Lydia had taunted her, Stanley had largely ignored her. Lucas at least seemed to notice that she existed.
‘What are the police doing?’ she asked.
‘That’s something I want to know as well,’ he said, decisively. ‘When the detective came from Scotland Yard, I wasn’t even allowed to meet him. Stanley had him out of the house in minutes. We should have helped the inspector. We know things about father that nobody else could tell him.’ He stood up. ‘In fact, in half an hour, I’m catching a train to Derby to meet this Inspector Colbeck.’
‘Have you told Stanley?’
‘I don’t need his permission, Agnes.’
‘He’ll think that you do.’
‘Well, he’s not here to stop me, is he? I’ll do as I please.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Stanley went into Nottingham to sort out the funeral arrangements. After that, he was going to call in at a pit near Ilkeston.’
‘Why is he doing that?’ she cried with sudden annoyance. ‘It’s so typical of him. Our dear Father was murdered and all that Stanley wants to do is to visit a mine. Doesn’t he care, Lucas? He’s supposed to be in mourning.’
Because he was wedded to his work, Stanley Quayle saw little of his wife and even less of his children. They formed a decorous background in his life. Even the death of his father could not keep him away from one of the family pits. His visit to the funeral director had been short to the point of rudeness. He’d simply given the man a list of requirements he’d written out, answered a few questions from him then gone off to Ilkeston. Keeping on the move, he discovered, was a useful distraction from the sorrow enveloping the rest of the family. Someone else could deal with the cards and the messages of condolence that kept coming in. He had more important things to do.
The glimpse of Inspector Colbeck was worrying. He could think of no reason why the detective should be in Ilkeston. What he’d seen in the man’s face was a fleeting suspicion and it was as disturbing as it was irritating. It was almost as if Colbeck had just had something confirmed in his mind. Quayle had been at pains to keep his distance from the investigation and he made sure that nobody else in the family was involved. Lucas, in particular, was likely to be thoughtless and indiscreet. Family secrets best kept hidden could unwittingly be revealed and it could lead to embarrassment.
As the carriage turned in through the main gates of the estate, he made a mental note to speak to his brother again and impress upon him the need to close ranks. The outside world should know nothing of the rift with Lydia, for instance, or of the other ugly skeletons in the closet. Stanley Quayle was an expert in repression, hiding things from the past so cunningly that nobody even knew that they were there. Reclining in the carriage, he rehearsed what he was going to say to his brother. It never occurred to him that at that very moment Lucas Quayle was on his way to Derby and that it was too late to rein him in.
The visit to the London Library was an overwhelming experience for Victor Leeming when he called there that afternoon with Madeleine Colbeck. He’d never seen so many books before. Endless shelves were packed with a variety of reading matter for those who used the place regularly. Leeming had very few books in his own home. Colbeck had an extensive and wide-ranging stock but his collection could not compare with what was on display in the library. In reply to a polite enquiry, the man on duty behind the desk refused point-blank to reveal the names of their subscribers. It was only when Leeming explained that he was involved in a murder investigation that he got some cooperation. The man searched through the long list of readers but he was unable to find the name of Lydia Quayle among them. Reluctantly, Madeleine and the sergeant withdrew.
‘We’ll have to try elsewhere,’ she suggested.
‘What if she does use this library?’
‘Her name was not on their list.’
‘I know that, but perhaps she’s using a different name now. If she’s cut herself off completely from the Quayle family, she might have taken on another identity. It’s something that criminals often do.’
‘She’s not a criminal, Victor.’
‘The family seem to treat her like one.’
As they came out into St James’s Square, he glanced nervously up and down in case any policemen were about. If he was recognised by one of them, it might be reported to Scotland Yard and he would have to answer awkward questions about why he was seen in the company of a woman when he was supposed to be conducting a search on his own. When an empty cab came in sight, he flagged it down. Madeleine gave the driver an address in New Oxford Street and they climbed in.
‘How did you know the number, Mrs Colbeck?’ he asked.
‘I borrow books from this library,’ she said. ‘It was one of the presents I had on my last birthday. Robert paid for my membership.’