‘To be honest, sir,’ he said, ‘I was glad to escape for the evening. I think I must have spoken to everyone in the village by now.’
‘Then there’s no point in your staying there.’
Leeming’s face glowed. ‘I can move back in here?’
‘No, Victor,’ replied Colbeck. ‘You can go home. To be more exact, you can return to London tomorrow to deliver a report on the situation here. I’ve already sent letters to Superintendent Tallis but you’ll be able to give him the latest news. Before that, of course, I’d like you to drop off a letter at my house and assure Madeleine that I’m in good heart and thinking of her.’
‘I’ll gladly do that. Will I have time to see Estelle and the boys?’
‘You can spend the night with them.’
‘That’s wonderful!’
‘I haven’t arranged a family reunion for your sake,’ warned Colbeck. ‘Frankly, it’s another family reunion that I have in mind. If she’s in London, I want you to find Lydia Quayle. Because of what Burns said about her, she interests me.’
‘How on earth am I supposed to find her, sir?’
‘You’ll think of a way, Victor. Besides, you won’t be on your own.’
‘Who’s going to help me?’
‘My wife, of course,’ said Colbeck, putting the menu back on the table. ‘The superintendent would be aghast, naturally, but I think we need a woman on this case. It may involve delicate negotiations and — with respect — that is not your strong suit. Madeleine will be at your side.’ He clapped Leeming on the shoulder. ‘You and she will make an excellent team.’
CHAPTER TEN
It was an unwritten rule that when they had breakfast they never discussed anything of real moment. Neither Lydia Quayle nor Beatrice Myler wanted to start their day with a subject that might lead to argument and impede their digestion. Over their meal that morning, therefore, they confined themselves to domestic trivia. It was only when they’d finished and when the maidservant had cleared away the plates that they felt able to move on to a more serious matter.
‘The decision, of course, is entirely yours,’ said Beatrice.
‘I know,’ said Lydia, her throat tight.
‘It’s a real dilemma.’
‘It’s more than that, Beatrice. There’s no right way to proceed. I’ll be damned if I do go back and damned if I don’t.’
‘You’ll hear no criticism from me.’
‘I won’t need to. I’ll provide more than enough censure myself.’
‘Oh, this must be preying on your mind dreadfully. What if …’
Thinking better of it, Beatrice lapsed back into silence and reached for her tea. Lydia was eager to know what her friend was about to say and eventually cajoled her into telling her what it was.
‘I was only going to pose a question,’ said Beatrice. ‘What if your father had died of natural causes? Would you have been tempted to go back then?’
‘No,’ said Lydia, ‘definitely not.’
‘You sound very convinced of that.’
‘I am, Beatrice.’
‘And what if your mother had passed away? You’ve often told me how fragile she is. Would that draw you back to Nottingham?’
‘To be honest, I don’t know. But it’s a decision I may have to face soon.’
‘It should be easier now that your father is … out of the way.’
‘Where my family is concerned, there are no easy decisions.’
Beatrice felt sorry for her but there was little she could do beyond offering her unqualified sympathy. Her own family life had been so different. It had been happy and blissfully uneventful. Never having the desire or the opportunity to get married, she’d found fulfilment elsewhere. Having come into a substantial amount of money on the death of her parents, she could afford to live in a delightful house and visit Italy whenever she chose. But the truth of it was, she now realised, that she’d never been forced to make a decision of the magnitude that now confronted Lydia. It was therefore impossible for her to put herself in her friend’s position. She had never met any of the other members of the family or experienced the deep divisions that they appeared to have.
‘Whatever you do, Lydia, you’ll have my full support.’
‘That means everything to me.’
‘I won’t presume to offer you any more advice.’
‘What about your Uncle Herbert?’
‘Oh,’ said Beatrice, chortling, ‘he was an archdeacon. He’ll give you advice whether you ask for it or not. Uncle Herbert would see it as his duty.’
‘How much have you told him about me?’
‘It wasn’t necessary to tell him anything, Lydia. People like him just know.’
Lydia spooned sugar into her tea and stirred it, contrasting the life she now led with the one that she’d escaped. When she’d been at home, she had a family, a position in the community and an ability to follow her interests whatever the costs involved. It was the friendship with Gerard Burns that had been the catalyst for change. Slow to develop, it had started at a cricket match when she saw him in supreme form. As a bowler, he’d terrorised the batting side. Suddenly, he was much more than simply a gardener. Though he was increasingly fond of her, he was held back from making even the smallest move in her direction because she seemed quite unattainable. For anything to happen between them, therefore, it had been up to Lydia to take the initiative and that was what she’d finally done. She’d been shocked at her boldness but thrilled with his response. They began to meet in secret and the attraction eventually burgeoned into love.
As she looked across the table, she realised that Beatrice had never had that sense of madness, that fire in the blood, that conviction that nothing else mattered than to be with the man she adored. It had somehow been beyond her friend’s reach. What Beatrice had in its place was something that Lydia had come to cherish because it brought a peace of mind she’d never felt before.
‘I’d rather stay here with you, Beatrice,’ she said.
And the discussion was over.
Madeleine Colbeck took advantage of the bright sunlight flooding in through the window of her studio and started work early that morning. While she knew that there were other female artists in London, she flattered herself that she was the only one who’d forged a reputation for painting steam locomotives and railway scenes. Her father was her greatest source of technical advice but he was also her sternest critic. When she heard the doorbell ring, she feared that he’d called unexpectedly and would come to view her latest work before it was ready to be seen. Opening the door, she listened for the sound of his voice. In fact, it was Victor Leeming who was being invited into the house. After putting her brush aside and wiping her hands on a cloth, Madeleine went downstairs to greet him.
‘What are you doing here, Victor?’ she asked.
‘I’m to act as a postman,’ he replied, handing over a letter. ‘The inspector said I was to deliver this before reporting to Scotland Yard.’
‘Come in the drawing room and tell me everything.’
She led the way into the room and sat beside him on the sofa. Anxious to open her letter, she felt that it would be rude to do so until she’d talked to her visitor.
‘Is Robert still in Derby?’
‘Yes, he is, and likely to be there for some time.’
‘Have you made any headway in the investigation?’
‘I like to think so but I daresay you’ll read about it in the letter.’
‘Why did Robert send you back to London?’
‘He has work for me to do here, Mrs Colbeck. I’m to stay the night.’
‘That will please Estelle,’ she said. ‘By the way, she came here for tea with the boys a couple of days ago. We had a lovely time.’