‘You liked the old days better, didn’t you, Mrs Withers?’
‘The colonel was a good master and I’d have done anything for his wife. Working for Mrs Tarleton was a joy.’ She looked at Adam Tarleton’s back. ‘It will never be the same again.’
Lottie’s fears were groundless. When they reached the church, nobody even spared her a glance. People gathered around the family to offer their condolences. She recognised Bertram and Agnes Reader because they’d visited the house when her employers were still alive. She also saw familiar faces from the village. Yet she still felt like an outsider. Everyone else seemed to know what to do. They knew how to speak in low voices and what to say. They moved with the sort of understated reverence that was beyond the girl. When they entered the church, they were completely at ease. Lottie, by contrast, was in extreme discomfort, feeling the chill in the air and wishing that the oak pew was not quite so hard. Seated beside Mrs Withers, she was afraid to say a word and could barely lift her eyes to the altar. She didn’t even notice that the church was festooned with flowers.
The bell stopped tolling, the soft murmur of voices died away and the curate made his entrance. There was a grating noise as everyone rose to their feet. A few people cleared their throats. Lottie got a first glimpse of the man who was about to take the service and she actually smiled.
‘It’s not the rector,’ she whispered.
The housekeeper’s elbow speared into her ribs.
It was a sombre service and many members of the congregation were profoundly moved. Colbeck was delighted with the way that it was conducted by the curate, an earnest young man who’d been kept in the shadow of the rector and who was determined to enjoy a rare opportunity to show his mettle. The colonel and his wife were both mentioned during prayers but not during a sermon that extolled the virtues of compassion. There was an atmosphere of collective sorrow that would not have been produced by the more combative approach of Frederick Skelton. Where the rector would have sown division, the curate achieved a unity.
Once outside the church, some people broke ranks. Colbeck heard more than one of them giving vent to the opinion that the colonel killed his wife and had no right to be mourned. But the majority were too subdued to venture any comment and simply dispersed in the direction of their homes. Colbeck and Leeming waited for the chance to speak to Bertram Reader but the banker and his wife were too busy talking to members of the family. When she saw them standing there, Mrs Withers came over to the detectives.
‘I thought you might be here,’ she said.
‘We’ll be here until the murder is solved,’ Colbeck told her. ‘What did you think of the service?’
‘It was very comforting, sir. I was touched.’
‘So were we,’ Leeming put in.
‘I was relieved that Mrs Doel came through it. But that’s not what I wanted to say,’ she went on. ‘When you came to the house on one of your visits, Inspector, you asked me about Michael Bruntcliffe.’
‘That’s right,’ said Colbeck. ‘Do you have any news of him?’
‘I don’t, sir, but Lottie does.’ She crooked a finger to beckon the girl across. ‘Tell them what you saw on the way back from Rock Farm.’
Lottie was nervous in the presence of the two detectives but, prompted by the housekeeper, she managed to tell her story. From the description given, Mrs Withers was certain that the person with Adam Tarleton had been Bruntcliffe. Both women were obviously frightened that they might have to suffer repercussions as a result of what they had said so Colbeck assured them that Tarleton would never know where the information had come from. After thanking him profusely, the women melted into the crowd.
‘He lied to us, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘I thought so at the time.’
‘Keep an eye on him, Victor.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I want to spend that golden nugget,’ said Colbeck.
Having noticed that the banker had broken away from the group around the family, he moved swiftly to intercept him. They exchanged greetings, then Reader wanted details of the confrontation with the rector on the previous evening.
‘I’d love to have been a fly on the wall,’ he said.
‘Then you’d have been in danger of being swatted by the rector,’ said Colbeck. ‘He was in a vengeful mood. After I left, I suspect no ornament in the room was safe.’
‘Did he confess?’
‘He offered a vehement denial at first and tried to send me packing but his wife broke down. Having to write such vicious things under his dictation had preyed on her mind. I put it to the rector that the only honourable thing he could do was to resign.’
‘He and his wife will be indicted as well, surely?’
‘Let’s take this one step at a time, Mr Reader. I’ll deal with them in due course. At the moment, my priority remains the arrest of the murderer and the vindication of the colonel.’
‘I’ll help you all I can with those two objectives.’
‘Then tell me about the Leybourne Scandal.’
Reader was taken aback. ‘How do you know about that?’
‘The colonel was involved, wasn’t he? I remember the date when the truth first came out and I have evidence that Colonel Tarleton was one of the many victims. I’m not pressing you for anything more than acknowledgement,’ said Colbeck. ‘Why hide the fact? If I go back to the company, they’ll supply me with the names of everyone involved. Just tell me this – am I right?’
‘You are, Inspector.’
‘So he did invest money with Leybourne?’
Reader winced. ‘He invested a great deal of money.’
‘Thank you, sir. That’s all I need to know at this stage.’
Colbeck had no time to question him further because he had just received a signal from Leeming. The Tarleton family were on the move. Having received kind words and commiseration from several people, they were at last ready to begin the walk home. Mrs Withers and Lottie Pearl had left ahead of them. Colbeck moved smartly to detach Adam Tarleton from the group.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said. ‘Can we trouble you for a moment?’
Tarleton was brusque. ‘It’s highly inconvenient.’
‘Nevertheless, we must insist.’
‘I don’t have to talk to you if I don’t wish to, Inspector.’
‘Of course you don’t,’ said Colbeck, evenly, ‘but I’d advise you to humour us. If you don’t, Mr Tarleton, we’ll be obliged to arrest you for perverting the course of justice.’
‘I’ve done nothing of the kind!’ retorted Tarleton.
‘You told us you hadn’t seen Michael Bruntcliffe for years,’ said Leeming, ‘yet, according to one of the warders, you went to see your friend in prison not long before his release. Your name will be recorded in the visitors’ book, sir, so there’s no point in denying it.’
Tarleton chewed his lip. ‘It’s true,’ he conceded, ‘but it slipped my mind. You have to understand that I’m mourning the deaths of the two people I cared for most in the world. I’m consumed with sorrow. I simply can’t think about anything else.’
‘You thought about going for a ride the other day.’
‘I had to fight with the rector about funeral arrangements.’
‘That wouldn’t have taken you long, sir,’ resumed Colbeck, ‘yet you were away for several hours. Meanwhile, your sister was moping at the house. It doesn’t sound to me as if you were burdened by sorrow.’
‘What are you getting at?’ demanded Tarleton.
‘We want to know why the man you claim you haven’t seen for years – Michael Bruntcliffe – was out riding with you that day. Think before you speak,’ he cautioned as Tarleton was about to bluster, ‘because we have a reliable witness who saw the two of you together. It’s strange that you never mentioned the fact when we talked to you later on.’ He moved a step closer. ‘What are you hiding, sir?’
‘Nothing at all,’ said Tarleton, angrily.
‘Where is he?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Where is he?’ asked Colbeck, grasping him so tightly by the arm that he let out a cry of pain. ‘Where is Michael Bruntcliffe?’