‘I wondered if this was a good time to read to you,’ she said.
‘It’s not the ideal time, Amy,’ he said then he relented, ‘but why don’t you come in for a moment?’
He stood back to let her in then closed the door behind her. Clutching the book, Amy moved to the centre of the room. The sun slanted through the window to make her hair glisten and to lend her dull features an attractive sheen.
‘I can’t thank you enough for these poems,’ she said with a nervous laugh. ‘This is the best book you’ve ever given me, Mr Follis.’
‘There is a much better one,’ he said, teasingly.
‘Is there?’
‘Yes, Amy.’ He picked up a copy of the Bible from the table. ‘This is the best book ever written – though Tennyson has his own charms. I’ll be the first to concede that.’
‘His poems have such feeling.’
‘Perhaps you could read just one to me.’
She was elated. ‘Which one shall it be?’
‘Choose your favourite,’ he said, resuming his seat. ‘As long as it’s not In Memoriam – I don’t think I’m in the right mood for that at this precise moment.’
‘Then I’ll read you The Lady of Shalott.’
Amy was to be cruelly disappointed. Before she could even find the page, someone rang the doorbell. She was deeply hurt.
‘That can’t be Mrs Ashmore already,’ she said, flustered. ‘She always goes to the market on a Monday.’
‘I see that you know our domestic routine here at the rectory,’ said Follis with a fond smile. ‘Mrs Ashmore has a key, of course, so she would never ring the bell. Excuse me a moment.’
Getting up from his chair, he went out to answer the door. Amy heard him talking to someone then he reappeared with a tall, elegant man and a pretty young woman. Resenting the strangers, she was at the same time relieved to see that they were not fellow-parishioners.
‘Allow me to introduce our Flower Lady,’ said Follis, indicating her. ‘Thanks to Amy Walcott, our church is always a floral delight.’
‘We’re pleased to meet you, Miss Walcott,’ said Colbeck, noting the absence of a ring on her left hand. ‘We’re sorry to intrude. My name is Robert Colbeck and this,’ he went on, turning to his companion, ‘is Miss Madeleine Andrews.’
‘Good afternoon,’ said Madeleine.
‘Delighted to make your acquaintance,’ mumbled Amy, nodding at them and wishing that she had such a lovely complexion as Madeleine’s. ‘I didn’t know that the rector was expecting visitors.’
‘Nor more did I,’ said Follis with a chuckle. ‘I’m afraid that we’ll have to postpone the reading until a more appropriate time, Amy. What Mr Colbeck failed to mention is that he’s a Detective Inspector at Scotland Yard. He’s doubtless come to discuss the train crash with me so The Lady of Shalott will have to wait her turn.’
‘Of course,’ said Amy, moving to the door. ‘I understand. Don’t bother about me. I’ll let myself out.’
She left the room so swiftly that none of them had time to see the tears forming in her eyes. By the time she walked past the church, they were streaming down her cheeks.
Dick Chiffney used a piece of chalk to draw the rough outline of a man on the trunk of the tree. A crude circle was placed where he thought the heart might be. Walking thirty paces away, he picked up the rifle and went down on one knee. He put the butt of the weapon into his shoulder and took aim, making sure that he was steady before he pulled the trigger. When he did so, the bullet missed the tree altogether and spent its fury in the undergrowth.
‘You need more practice,’ said his companion.
‘I’m much better with the pistol.’
‘Whichever weapon it is, there must be no mistake. He’s escaped with his life once already. That must never happen again.’
‘It won’t, sir,’ said Chiffney, obsequiously.
‘Bide your time until you find the right moment.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And don’t fail me,’ warned the man. ‘I take a poor view of people who let me down.’
‘You can count on me.’
‘Then why wasn’t he killed in the train crash?’
‘He was lucky, sir. Next time it will be different.’
The man pointed to the target. ‘Keep practising,’ he ordered. ‘I want to see you hit that tree time and again.’
Chiffney licked his lips. ‘When do I get paid, sir?’
‘When he’s dead,’ was the reply.
Having left Madeleine Andrews at the rectory, Colbeck went off to the county hospital. He first sought out the doctor in charge of Horace Bardwell and discussed the case with him. It emerged that the patient would be there for at least a week before being allowed home. There was a degree of safety in a crowded hospital but not enough to discourage a determined assassin. Colbeck realised why Giles Thornhill, under threat, had been so keen to return to his own house.
Though Bardwell was awake, he looked pale and distraught. It took him a few moments to gather his thoughts when Colbeck spoke to him. He wondered why a detective had come to see him.
‘This is our second conversation, sir,’ said Colbeck.
‘Is it? I don’t remember you.’
‘I’m trying to find out what actually happened,’ said Colbeck.
‘A goods train collided with the express,’ muttered Bardwell. ‘At least, that’s what they tell me. It’s all rather hazy to me.’
‘How do you feel now, Mr Bardwell?’
‘I’m so tired. My wife, my son and some of my friends have been here to see me. It was very heartening but it’s left me so weary.’
‘Then I won’t stay too long,’ promised Colbeck. ‘Last time I was here, I mentioned a name that appeared to upset you.’
‘Did it? Who was it?’
‘Matthew Shanklin.’
Bardwell shuddered. ‘Don’t mention that fiend!’ he gasped.
‘Why is that, sir?’
‘Because he did everything he could to ruin me.’
‘I believe that he used to work for the LB&SCR.’
‘Then you’re mistaken – Shanklin worked against the company. You must have men under you, Inspector.’
‘Several of them,’ said Colbeck.
‘Then you’ll know that the first thing you demand of them is unquestioning loyalty. It’s an essential prerequisite, don’t you agree? Matthew Shanklin betrayed me.’
‘In what way, sir?’
‘I don’t want to go into the details,’ said Bardwell, plucking at the bandage around his eyes. ‘It would only distress me. Suffice it to say that he made false allegations against me that led, in time, to the loss of my position as Managing Director of the Board.’
‘Mr Shanklin claims that you caused him to lose his job.’
‘That was the least he deserved.’
‘Were you dissatisfied with his work?’
‘He should never have been employed by the company.’
‘Yet he held a post with you for some years,’ argued Colbeck, ‘so he must have been competent. My colleague, Sergeant Leeming, spoke to some of those who worked alongside Mr Shanklin. To a man, they said that he had been a very able manager.’
‘They didn’t know him as well as I did!’