‘Standing outside a church is not the place to question him, sir,’ said Leeming, producing a pair of handcuffs from inside his coat. ‘Let’s arrest him and have done with it. Then I can put these bracelets on his wrists.’
‘No,’ pleaded Tarleton, ‘don’t do that. What will everyone think? I’ll tell you where Michael is but please don’t arrest me today of all days. It would break my sister’s heart.’
‘Will you give me your word that you’ll remain in the area?’
‘Yes, Inspector – I must stay here. There’s the inquest tomorrow, then the two funerals. After that, the wills are going to be read.’
‘I don’t trust him, sir,’ said Leeming.
‘Put the handcuffs away,’ ordered Colbeck.
‘If he’s not in custody, he might make a run for it.’
‘He’s not stupid enough to do that, Sergeant. He knows that we’d go after him. Besides, Mr Tarleton has an important engagement in Northallerton that he can’t possibly miss. He wants to hear the details of his inheritance.’ Leeming secreted the handcuffs inside his coat. ‘Now, sir,’ continued Colbeck, ‘where is your friend?’
‘He’s some distance away, Inspector,’ said Tarleton.
‘We can hire a trap.’
‘You’d be better off on horseback. It’s quite remote.’
Leeming blenched. ‘Horses! I’m not happy about that.’
‘We’ll do whatever’s necessary,’ said Colbeck, eyes locked on Tarleton. ‘I’m waiting, sir. Where is Michael Bruntcliffe?’
Although he was a religious man, Edward Tallis did not treat the Sabbath as a day of rest. After attending a Communion service that morning, he returned to Scotland Yard and worked through some of the files on his desk. It was almost noon when he lit a cigar, sat back and began to reflect on events in the North Riding. Convinced that his friendship with the colonel would give him insights denied to others, he longed to take an active part once more in the investigation. He found himself almost wanting Colbeck and Leeming to fail so that he had an excuse to hasten to Yorkshire in order to take charge of the case. Things were moving too slowly for his liking and he had the feeling that his detectives were holding back some of the evidence they’d so far uncovered. That was irksome. The only way to know exactly what was going on was to be in South Otterington. On the next day, he resolved, he would catch the first available train.
When he put the files away in his desk, he realised that they had been standing on the Sunday newspaper. He picked it up and sighed as he glanced at the headlines on the front page. A fire had destroyed a house in Islington and its three occupants had been burnt to a cinder. As soon as it was confirmed as a case of arson, Tallis had sent two detectives to the scene. While they had worked hard to gather evidence, they were still no nearer to discovering who the culprit had been. The newspaper article mocked them for their slowness and quoted someone who felt that a fire should be lit under the detectives to provide some stimulus. Tallis was used to ridicule in the press but it nevertheless continued to hurt, especially – as was the case here – when his own name was mentioned.
Not wishing to read any more of the article, he turned the page in search of something less infuriating. He looked up and down the columns until he saw something that caused him to stop. It was not an offensive article this time but a broadside from Yorkshire. Now here’s a murd’rous tale of woe, See a hero misbehave. For it shows a valiant soldier go By railway to the grave.
Howling with rage, he tore the page out and used his cigar to set it alight, holding it between his fingers until it was reduced to a few black, curling, disintegrating wisps of paper. When the flame eventually burnt his hand, he did not even feel the pain.
On the way to the church, Mrs Withers and Lottie Pearl had walked behind the family. The situation was reversed on the return journey. Knowing that some people might be invited back to the house, they wanted to get there well in advance. Earlier that morning, the two of them had prepared refreshments and they began to set them out on trays in the kitchen. Both of them wore aprons over their black dresses. When she heard the front door open, the housekeeper put her head out to see how many guests were there. Only four people had returned with the family. The odd thing was that Adam Tarleton was not with them. Mrs Withers was about to withdraw into the kitchen when he came into the house, shot her a look of disapproval and followed the others into the drawing room.
‘There are seven of them in all,’ she told Lottie.
‘Who have they brought back?’
‘Mr and Mrs Reader – they followed in their trap.’
‘Oh, I like them,’ said Lottie. ‘I only met them once but they were very pleasant to me. Is it true that Mrs Reader paid for all those lovely flowers in the church?’
‘She’s a very kind lady.’
‘Who else is in there?’
‘Mr and Mrs Everett,’ replied the housekeeper.
‘I don’t know them.’
‘Mr Everett is the family solicitor. He was also a good friend of Colonel Tarleton. They used to go shooting together.’
‘Oh,’ sighed Lottie, her face screwed up in anguish. ‘I think it’s so cruel, killing those poor birds like that.’
‘Who cares about what you think?’ snapped Mrs Withers. ‘I’ll go and see what they’d like to drink. And remember – when you take a tray in, hold it the way I showed you and don’t tremble the way that you usually do.’
‘No, Mrs Withers. I’ll try.’
In fact, the girl acquitted herself well. Food and drink were served to the guests without any trembling on her part. She even earned a word of praise from the housekeeper. Once their work was done, the two women retreated to the kitchen. They were able to sit down at last and enjoy a long rest. The first thing that Mrs Withers did was to take off her shoes so that she could massage her feet. Lottie was surprised to see how dainty they were.
‘Are those shoes too tight, Mrs Withers?’ she asked.
‘They are a little – I keep them for best.’
‘It’s a pity we had to walk all the way to church and back.’
‘Yes,’ said the other, ‘and I’ve had no time to change them since we came home because there was so much to do.’
‘You’ve got time now.’
‘I might be needed.’
‘It will only take a couple of minutes for you to slip up to your room,’ said Lottie. ‘I can listen out in case they call.’
The older woman was tempted. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, Mrs Withers – go on. Change your shoes while you can.’
Grateful for the offer, the housekeeper did not even bother to put the shoes on again. Instead she tripped up the stairs to the top of the house and let herself into her room. Putting the other pair away, she slipped on her working shoes and wiggled her toes. Her feet immediately felt better. She took the opportunity to straighten her dress in the mirror and to brush her hair, noting how thin it was now becoming. Then she went out again.
As she came down the first flight of steps, she was surprised to see a female figure going into what had been Miriam Tarleton’s bedroom. Her protective instincts were aroused. It was not Eve Doel. She knew that. Going into her mother’s bedroom had been too upsetting for the daughter. It had to be someone else and Mrs Withers felt that she simply had to confront her. She took a firm hold on the doorknob, turned it and flung the door open.
‘Goodness!’ exclaimed Agnes Reader, hand to her chest.
‘I thought I saw someone coming in here.’
‘Yes, Mrs Withers, but I’m not an intruder. I had permission from Mrs Doel. I was such an old friend of her mother’s that she encouraged me to have a keepsake from her jewellery box. Oh,’ she added, ‘nothing expensive. I just wanted something that would have sentimental value.’
‘The jewellery box is here, Mrs Reader,’ said the housekeeper, picking it up from the dressing table. ‘Why not take it downstairs then Mrs Doel can help you choose something?’