The Excursion Train

There was resignation rather than bitterness in her voice. Winifred Hawkshaw did not blame local people for the way that they reacted. Colbeck was reminded of Louise Guttridge, another woman with an inner strength that enabled her to cope with the violent death of a husband. While the hangman's widow was sustained by religion, however, what gave Winifred her self-possession was her belief in her husband and her determination to clear his name.

'Are you aware of what happened to Jacob Guttridge?' he asked.

'Yes, Inspector.'

'How did the news of his murder make you feel?'

'It left me cold.'

'No sense of quiet satisfaction?'

'None,' she said. 'It won't bring Nathan back, will it?'

'What about your son?' he wondered. 'I should imagine that he took some pleasure from the fact that the man who hanged his father was himself executed.'

'Adam is not my son, Inspector. He was a child of Nathan's first marriage. But, yes – and I'm not ashamed to admit this – Adam was thrilled to hear the news. He came running round here to tell me.'

'Doesn't he live here with you?'

'Not any more.'

'Why is that, Mrs Hawkshaw?'

'Never you mind.' She eyed him shrewdly. 'Why did you come here, Inspector?'

'Because the case interested me,' he replied. 'Before I joined the Metropolitan Police, I was a lawyer and was called to the bar. Almost every day of my life was spent in a courtroom involved in legal tussles. There wasn't much of a tussle in your husband's case. From the reports that I've seen, the trial was remarkably swift and one-sided.'

'Nathan had no chance to defend himself.'

'His barrister should have done that.'

'He let us down as well.'

'The prosecution case seemed to hinge on the fact that your husband was unable to account for his whereabouts at the time when Joseph Dykes was killed.'

'That's not true,' she said with spirit. 'Nathan began to walk home from Lenham but, when he'd gone a few miles, he decided to go back and tackle Joe Dykes again. By the time he got there, it was all over.'

'Mr Hawkshaw was seen close to the murder scene.'

'He didn't know that the body was lying there.'

'Were there witnesses who saw him walking away from Lenham?'

'None that would come forward in court.'

'Where was your stepson during all this time?'

'He was at the fair with his friends.'

'And you?'

'I was visiting my mother in Willesborough. She's very sick.'

'I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs Hawkshaw.'

'It's the least of my worries at the moment. If things go on as they are, we may have to sell the shop – unless we can prove that Nathan was innocent.'

'To do that, you'll need to unmask the real killer.'

'Gregory and I will do it one day,' she vowed.

'Gregory?'

'A friend of the family, Inspector.' A half-smile of gratitude flitted across her face. 'I don't know what we'd have done without Gregory Newman. When others were turning away, he stood by us. It was Gregory who said we should start a campaign to free Nathan.'

'Did that involve trying to rescue him from Maidstone prison?'

'I know nothing of that,' she said, crisply.

'An attempt was made – according to the chaplain.'

Her facial muscles tightened. 'Don't mention that man.'

'Why not?'

'Because he only added to Nathan's suffering. Reverend Jones is evil. He kept on bullying my husband.'

'Is that what he told you?'

'Nathan wasn't allowed to tell me anything like that. They only let me see him in prison once. We had a warder standing over us to listen to what was said. Nathan was in chains,' she said, hurt by a painful memory, 'as if he was a wild animal.'

'So this information about the chaplain must have come from a message that was smuggled out. Am I right?' She nodded in assent. 'Do you still have it, by any chance?'

'No,' she replied.

Colbeck knew that she was lying. A woman who had made such efforts to prove her husband's innocence would cherish everything that reminded her of him, even if it was a note scribbled in a condemned cell. But there was no point in challenging her and asking to see the missive, especially as he already knew that there was an element of truth in its contents. The Reverend Narcissus Jones had made the prisoner's last few hours on earth far more uncomfortable than they need have been.

'Does this Mr Newman live in Ashford?'

'Oh, yes. Gregory used to be a blacksmith. He had a forge in St John's Lane but he sold it.'

'Has he retired?'

'No, Inspector,' she said, 'he's too young for that. Gregory took a job in the railway works. That's where you'll find him.'

'Then that's where I'll go in due course,' decided Colbeck, getting to his feet. 'Thank you, Mrs Hawkshaw. I'm sorry to intrude on you this way but I really do want the full details of this case.'

She challenged him. 'You think it's us, don't you?'

'I beg your pardon?'

'You're not really interested in Nathan, are you?' she said with a note of accusation. 'You came to find out if we killed that dreadful hangman. Well, I can tell you now, Inspector, that we're not murderers. Not any of us – and that includes my husband.'

'I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression,' he told her, raising both hands in a gesture of appeasement. 'Very few cases are reviewed in this way, I can assure you. I would have thought it would be in your interest for someone to examine the facts anew with a fresh pair of eyes.'

'That's not all that brought you here.'

'Perhaps not, Mrs Hawkshaw. But it's one of the main reasons.'

'What are the others?'

He gave a disarming smile. 'I've taken up enough of your time. Thank you for being so helpful.' He was about to leave when he heard footsteps descending the stairs and a door opened to reveal a fair-haired girl in mourning dress. 'Oh, good morning,' he said, politely.

The girl was short, slender, pale-faced and exceptionally pretty. She looked as if she had been crying and there was a vulnerability about her that made her somehow more appealing. The sight of a stranger caused her to draw back at once.

'This is my daughter, Emily,' said Winifred, indicating her. 'Emily, this is Inspector Colbeck from London. He's a policeman.'

It was all that the girl needed to hear. Mumbling an excuse, she closed the door and went hurriedly back upstairs. Winifred felt impelled to offer an explanation.

'You'll have to forgive her,' she said. 'Emily still can't believe that it all happened. It's changed her completely. She hasn't been out of here since the day of the execution.'

Victor Leeming was dreaming about his wedding day when he heard a distant knock. The door of the church swung open but, instead of his bride, it was a plump young woman with a wooden tray who came down the aisle towards him.

'Excuse me, sir,' she said, boldly.

'What?'

Leeming came awake and realised that he was lying fully clothed on the bed in his room at the Saracen's Head. The plump young woman was standing inside the doorway, holding a tray and staring at his bruised face with utter fascination.

'Did you hurt yourself, sir?' she asked.

'I had an accident,' he replied, leaping off the bed to stand up.

'What sort of accident?'

'It doesn't matter.'

'It would to me if I had injuries like that.'

'Who are you and what do you want?'

'My name is Mary, sir,' she said with a friendly smile, 'and I work here at the Saracen's Head. The other gentleman told me to wake you with a cup of tea at eleven o'clock and give you this letter.' She put the tray on the bedside table. 'There you are, sir.'

As she brushed his arm, he stepped back guiltily as if he had just been caught in an act of infidelity. It was a paradox. As a policeman in earlier days, Leeming had been used to patrolling areas of London that were infested with street prostitutes yet he was embarrassed to be alone in a room with a female servant. Mary continued to stare at him.

'Thank you,' he said. 'You can go now.'