She was shocked. ‘You’d get married at your age?’
‘I need some companionship. Oh, I know you think that I’m sinking slowly into dotage but there are still certain ladies who’d look upon me as a catch. You should see some of the warm glances they give me in church.’
‘That’s the last place you ought to be getting glances of any kind,’ she said with mock disapproval.
‘London is full of desirable women.’
‘Father!’
‘All that I have to do is to take my pick.’
‘What you have to do is to remember how old you are.’
‘Many a good tune played on an old fiddle.’ Cackling wickedly, he got up from the table, downed the remains of his tea in one mouthful and beamed at her. ‘You’d better tell Inspector Colbeck to get a move on,’ he said, ‘or I’ll be hearing wedding bells before he does. Make him name the day, Maddy.’
‘I’ll do nothing of the kind,’ said Madeleine, firmly. ‘Robert’s work comes first and we have to plan our lives around that. And I don’t care which railway company took him to Yorkshire as long as it brings him safely back home to me.’
Breakfast at the Black Bull was served in a little room adjoining the kitchen. The food was good, the portions generous and the tea exceptionally strong. Colbeck tried to make conversation but Tallis was distrait. After a sleepless night, agonising over the death of his friend, he looked pale and weary. The visitor brought him fully awake. They were just about to leave the table when the Reverend Frederick Skelton burst into the room like an avenging angel.
‘I am the rector of St Andrew’s Church,’ he declared, striking a pose, ‘and I understand that you are here in connection with this ugly stain that’s been left on the village.’
‘We’re here to look into the circumstances of Colonel Tarleton’s death,’ said Colbeck, levelly, ‘and to find his missing wife. We’ve yet to notice any stains here, ugly or otherwise.’
‘That’s because you don’t have to live here, sir.’
The rector was a tall, slim, thin-lipped man in his forties with a smooth, colourless face and flowing brown locks of which he was so inordinately proud that he stroked them as if caressing a favourite cat. Sizing him up, Colbeck introduced himself and Tallis. Skelton went on the attack at once.
‘I wish to make one thing crystal clear,’ he boomed, addressing an invisible congregation. ‘There is no place for that criminal in my churchyard. He does not deserve to lie in consecrated ground.’
‘That’s a matter for the archbishop to decide,’ said Tallis.
‘I’m in charge of what happens in my parish.’
‘Colonel Tarleton is not a criminal.’
‘Suicide is a crime, Superintendent. Surely, a man in your position must know that. There was a time when those who took their own lives were buried on a public highway with a stake through their bodies. If it were left to me, that practice would be revived.’
‘Fortunately,’ said Colbeck, sharply, ‘it is not left to you or to anyone else enamoured of such medieval brutality. Parliament has shown due mercy to those unfortunate people compelled by the sheer misery of their lives to commit suicide. The Burial Act of 1823 gives them the right to lie in consecrated ground as long as the body is interred between the hours of nine o’clock in the evening and midnight. What the Act does not authorise is the performance of any of the rites of Christian burial.’
‘I care nothing for the Act,’ said Skelton, dismissively.
‘Then it will give me pleasure to arrest you for contravening it,’ said Tallis, wagging a finger. ‘You have a very short memory, sir. The church of St Andrew, as I recall, was rebuilt almost ten years ago. I know that the major costs were borne by Mr Rutson of Newby Wiske, but a handsome donation to erect a stone cross in the churchyard came from my good friend, Colonel Tarleton. Is that not so?’
‘Yes, it is, but I regard that as irrelevant.’
‘He worshipped regularly in your church.’
‘All the more reason for him to set a good example to the rest of my flock,’ said the rector. ‘Instead of that, he causes distress in the mind of every true Christian by his abominable act.’
‘Is suicide always abominable?’ asked Colbeck.
‘It’s abominable and unforgivable.’
‘Then I’m surprised that you haven’t been to Westminster Abbey to open the tomb of Viscount Castlereagh. He slit his own throat with a letter opener yet he was given a Christian burial there. He was a peer of the realm and held some of the highest offices of state. Would you have him disinterred so that he could lie beneath a public highway with a stake through his body?’
‘That was a different case,’ said Skelton, irritably, ‘and bears no parallel to this one. Viscount Castlereagh, poor man, committed suicide in a fit of madness. That’s an extenuating factor.’
‘Could it not also be an extenuating factor here?’
‘No,’ Tallis interjected. ‘Colonel Tarleton was as sane as I am.’
‘My wife can bear witness to that,’ asserted the rector. ‘She actually met him when he was on his way to commit the vile act. In fact, she may have been one of the last people to see him alive. That thought has troubled her beyond measure.’
‘What exactly happened?’
‘He strolled through the village as if on one of his normal perambulations. He raised his hat to my wife and smiled at her. In short, he behaved as he would always have done and that, I may tell you, is my definition of sanity.’
‘The inquest may decide otherwise,’ said Colbeck.
‘Not when Mrs Skelton gives her evidence.’
‘The coroner will not reach a verdict on the basis of a brief encounter in the village with a single individual. Testimony will be taken from everyone who saw Colonel Tarleton that day. And whatever the outcome, his right to be buried in consecrated ground remains.’
‘I intend to enforce that right,’ cautioned Tallis.
‘You can do as you wish,’ said the rector, ‘but I repeat what I came here to inform you. No suicide will lie within the precincts of my churchyard. Law or no law, I’ll not let it be corrupted.’
Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and swept out of the room, brushing back his luxuriant hair before putting on his hat. Tallis was fuming. Colbeck sought to reassure him.
‘Nobody can deny him the right of burial, sir,’ he said.
‘He’ll have that right,’ said Tallis, hotly, ‘even if I have to dig the grave with my own bare hands.’
‘I appreciate your feelings but you can’t usurp the privileges of the children. They are his heirs, Superintendent. We must bow to their wishes. It’s up to them to make the funeral arrangements.’
Wearing mourning attire and with her face hidden behind a black veil, Eve Doel embraced Mrs Withers with an amalgam of fondness and grief. They wept copiously on each other’s shoulders. Adam Tarleton, meanwhile, supervised the driver who was unloading their luggage before carrying it into the house. When that was done, the man collected his fare, tugged his forelock in gratitude then climbed back up on the seat of his carriage. As the vehicle rumbled away, Tarleton looked with disapproval at the two women.
‘That’s enough of that,’ he said, brusquely. ‘We can’t stand out here all day.’
‘No, no, of course not,’ said Mrs Withers, disentangling herself and dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘Welcome back, sir. It’s been a long time since we saw you.’
‘It’s been far too long.’
‘Do come inside.’
She stood back to let the brother and sister go into the house. Waiting in the hall was a tremulous Lottie Pearl, her mother’s black dress looking baggier than ever. Not knowing whether to speak or to curtsey, she opted for a nervous smile that neither of them even saw. Ignoring her completely, they went through to the drawing room. The housekeeper followed and took a close look at them. Eve Doel had been there during the search for her mother but Adam had not been to the house for a long time.