‘How did it happen, Jack?’ I asked him.
After a short pause, he said, ‘I waited for him on the towpath. All the way home we argued and in the end I lost my temper. There were a long bit of wood from a packing crate or summat by the bushes. He turned his back on me and started walking away. I picked it up and clouted him and down he went.’
‘But why the weir?’
‘I realized what I’d done.’ He gave a harsh laugh. ‘It’s funny, you know, especially now it doesn’t matter. But back then, when I’d just done it, when I knew I’d killed a man, I panicked. I thought if I threw his body over the weir then people would think he’d fallen. It weren’t far, and he weren’t a heavy man.’
‘He wasn’t dead, Jack,’ I said. ‘He had water in his lungs. That meant he was alive when he went into the water.’
‘It’s no matter,’ said Jack. ‘One way or another, it was me who killed him.’
The water roared in my ears. Jack turned towards me. I flinched and stepped back again, thrusting my arm out to keep him at a distance.
He shook his head slowly, tears in his eyes, and spoke so softly I had to strain to hear him. ‘Nay, Doctor, you’ve nowt to fear from me. It’s me who’s got summat to fear from you.’
I shook my head. I really didn’t know what to do, and my heart was still beating fast from the fear that he had been going to tip me over the railing.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘all I ask is that you leave it till morning. One more night in the house me and Florence shared. Will you do that for me, at least, Doctor?’
As I nodded numbly, he turned and began to walk away.
Early the following morning, after a miserable night spent tossing and turning, grappling with my conscience, I was summoned from the hospital to the works office building, attached to the west side of the mill. I hurried down Victoria Road, wondering what on earth it could be about, and soon found myself ushered into a large, well-appointed office with a thick Turkish carpet, dark wainscoting and a number of local landscapes hanging on the walls. Sitting behind the huge mahogany desk was Sir Titus himself, still a grand, imposing figure despite his years and his declining health.
‘Dr Oulton,’ he said, without looking up from his papers. ‘Please sit down.’
I wondered what had brought him the twelve miles or so from Crows Nest, where he lived. He rarely appeared at the mill in those days.
‘I understand,’ he said in his deep, commanding voice, still not looking at me, ‘that you have been enquiring into the circumstances surrounding Richard Ellerby’s death?’
I nodded. ‘Yes, Sir Titus.’
‘And what, pray, have you discovered?’
I took a deep breath, then told him everything. As I spoke, he stood up, clasped his hands behind his back and paced the room, head hanging so that his grey beard almost reached his waist. Though his cheeks and eyes looked sunken, as if he was ill, his presence dominated the room. When I had finished, he sat down again and treated me to a long silence before he said, ‘And what are we going to do about it?’
‘The police will have to be notified.’
‘As yet, then, you and I are the only ones who know the full truth?’
‘And Jack himself.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Sir Titus stroked his beard. I could hear the muffled noise of the mill and feel the vibrations of the power looms shaking the office. It was a warm day, and despite the open window the room was stuffy. I felt the sweat gather on my brow and upper lip. I gazed out of the window and saw the weir, where Richard Ellerby had met his death. ‘This is not good,’ Sir Titus said finally. ‘Not good at all.’
‘Sir?’
He gestured with his arm to take in the whole of Saltaire. ‘What I mean, Dr Oulton, is that this could be very bad for the village. Very bad. Do you have faith in the experiment?’
‘The experiment, sir?’
‘The moral experiment that is Saltaire.’
‘I have never doubted your motive in wanting to do good, sir.’
Sir Titus managed a thin smile. ‘A very revealing answer.’ Another long silence followed. He got up and started pacing again. ‘If a man visits a public house and becomes so intoxicated that he falls in a river and drowns, then that is an exemplary tale for all of us, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I would, sir.’
‘And if a man, after visiting a public house, is followed by a group of ruffians who attack him, rob him and throw him in a river to drown, then again we have an exemplary – nay, a cautionary - tale, do we not?’
‘We do, sir. But Richard Ellerby wasn’t robbed.’
He waved his hand impatiently. ‘Yes, yes, of course. I know that. I’m merely thinking out loud. Please forgive an old man his indulgence. This place – Saltaire – means the world to me, Dr Oulton. Can you understand that? The world.’
‘I think I can, sir.’
‘It’s not just a matter of profits, though I’ll not deny it’s profitable enough. But I think I have created something unique. I call it my “experiment”, of course, yet for others it is a home, a way of life. At least I hope it is. It was my aim to make Saltaire everything Bradford was not. It was designed to nurture self-improvement, decency, orderly behaviour and good health among my workers. I wanted to prove that making my own fortune was not incompatible with the material and spiritual wellbeing of the working classes. I saw it as my duty, my God-given duty. If the Lord looks so favourably upon me, then I take that as an obligation to look favourably upon my workers. Do you follow me?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And now this. Murder. Manslaughter. Call it what you will. It disrupts the fabric of things. It could destroy any trust that might have built up in the community. No doubt you remember the troubles we had over anthrax some years ago?’
‘I do, sir.’ In 1868 a man called Sutcliffe Rhodes had garnered much support from the village in his campaign against anthrax, and Sir Titus had been seriously embarrassed by the whole matter. ‘But surely you can’t expect me to ignore what I know, sir?’ I said. ‘To lie.’
Sir Titus smiled grimly. ‘I could never ask a man to go against his beliefs, Doctor. All I ask is that you follow the dictates of your own conscience, but that you please bear in mind the consequences. If this issue surfaces again, especially in this way, then we’re done for. Nobody will believe in the goodness of Saltaire any more, and I meant it to be a good place, a place where there would never be any reason for murder to occur.’
He shook his head in sadness and let the silence stretch again. Above the noise of the mill I suddenly heard men shouting. Someone hammered on the door and dashed into the office without ceremony. I couldn’t be certain, but my first impression was that it was the same shadowy figure I had seen in the ‘spy’ tower.
‘Sir Titus,’ the interloper said, after a quick bow, ‘my apologies for barging in like this, but you must come. There’s a man on the mill roof.’
Sir Titus and I frowned at one another, then we followed him outside. I walked slowly, in deference to Sir Titus’s age, and it took us several minutes to get around to the allotment gardens, from where we had a clear view.
The man stood atop the mill roof, full six storeys up, between its two decorative lanterns. I could also make out another figure inside one of the lanterns, perhaps talking to him. But the man on the roof didn’t appear to be listening. He stood right at the edge and, even as we watched, he spread out his arms as if attempting to fly, then he sprang off the roof and seemed to hover in the air for a moment before falling with a thud to the forecourt.
It was a curious sensation. Though I knew in my heart and mind that I was witnessing the death of a fellow human being, there was a distant quality about the event. The figure was dwarfed by the mill, for a start, and just in front of us, a dog scratched at the dirt, as if digging for its bone, and it didn’t cease during the man’s entire fall to earth.