Timetable of Death Read online

  ‘Inspector Colbeck learnt something about her travels from Burns. He said how fondly she’d always talked of Italy. That’s the most likely place she’d have gone. Burns had no way of confirming it, of course, because they’d lost touch completely, but it’s logical. He told the inspector something else about her as well.’

  ‘What was that, Victor?’

  ‘Lydia Quayle loved reading. She was always talking about the latest thing she’d read. When it was the gardener’s birthday, she gave him a book of poems.’

  Madeleine smiled inwardly. Early in their relationship, Colbeck had given her a poetry anthology. She had read something from it every night. In her case, it had been a treasured gift but she doubted if the gardener got quite as much pleasure out of the volume he’d been given.

  ‘I can see how my husband’s mind is working,’ she said. ‘A young woman with a passion for books is likely to borrow some on a regular basis. If she lives alone, she’ll have plenty of time for reading and she’s now free from the social commitments that she must have had when she lived at home with her parents.’

  ‘I’m not a reading man myself,’ said Leeming, apologetically. ‘I don’t have a leaning that way. As for libraries, I wouldn’t even know where to find one.’

  ‘Then we must start with the London Library. That’s in St James’s Square.’

  ‘I’ve never had call to go there.’

  ‘There’s the British Museum, of course, but that’s for more scholarly books and I don’t think you’re allowed to borrow them. It seems to me as if Miss Quayle would be more interested in reading novels, books of poetry or something about Italy, perhaps. She may also buy books, I daresay, but an avid reader would also belong to a library.’

  ‘You’re starting to sound like the inspector.’

  ‘I’m trying to think like him, that’s all.’

  ‘I never tell Estelle anything about my work. It would only upset her to know how much danger we come up against. Besides, there’s no point. She wouldn’t be able to do what you can do.’ He grimaced. ‘I hope we’re lucky, Mrs Colbeck. I’ve just thought what would happen if we don’t find the woman.’

  ‘You’d have to go back to the superintendent and admit that you failed.’

  Leeming gulped at the prospect. ‘It’d be worse than a firing squad in that case. He’d let loose the artillery on me.’

  An atmosphere of gloom and apprehension pervaded the whole house. Servants moved about in silence as if frightened to speak. The murder of Vivian Quayle had had a profound effect on them and on those who worked outside on the estate. If someone as important and as well protected as their master could be killed, they worried about their own safety. Family members and servants all wore funereal attire. When Agnes helped her mother slowly downstairs, there was a rustle of black taffeta. Though her daughter advised against it, Harriet Quayle insisted on being taken out for a drive. Having been penned up indoors for days, she said that she felt that the house was oppressive and that she needed fresh air.

  ‘At least, let me come with you,’ volunteered Agnes.

  ‘I prefer to be alone.’

  ‘But what if you’re taken ill?’

  ‘Stop fussing over me, Agnes.’

  ‘I worry about you.’

  ‘If anything untoward happens,’ said Harriet, ‘I’m sure that Cleary will bring me back at once. I just want to experience freedom.’

  It was a strange word to use but Agnes knew that her mother was more than capable of coming out with odd remarks or making peculiar demands. There was a capricious streak in her that had not been entirely quelled by almost forty years of marriage to one of the leading industrialists in the county. The butler was there to open the door wide for them and the driver was standing beside the landau with its door opened and its step folded down. When he saw the old lady emerge, he hurried across to her and offered his arm. Harriet took it gratefully.

  ‘Thank you, Cleary,’ she said. ‘You can let go of me now, Agnes.’

  ‘You’re not to stay out for long, Mother.’

  ‘I just want to be able to breathe again.’

  ‘Take good care of her, Cleary,’ said Agnes.

  ‘Yes, Miss Quayle,’ he replied.

  Cleary was a tall, thin, lithe man in his thirties with a gaunt face and a dark complexion. Though he’d been born in the area, he had a slightly foreign look to him. After helping his mistress into the carriage, he put a blanket over her legs even though it was a warm day. Agnes watched as he climbed up on the box seat and used a whip to set the horses in motion. As the vehicle swept off, its wheels made a loud scrunching noise on the gravel that sounded almost sacrilegious near a house of mourning.

  Agnes went back into the building in search of her younger brother. She found him in what had once been their father’s study, poring over some documents. When he looked up at her, she gave a sigh of despair.

  ‘I couldn’t stop her, Lucas.’

  ‘We must give Mother her head.’

  ‘She can be so determined.’

  ‘It’s a family trait,’ said Lucas Quayle. ‘You don’t build empires with a faint heart. Everything that Father achieved would have been impossible without Mother. Until her health collapsed, she helped him a great deal in the early days. That’s why it was such a strong marriage.’

  Agnes made no reply. Talk of marriage always embarrassed her. Shorn of her own chances by her lack of appeal to the male sex, she’d been compelled to look after her mother and put up with the old lady’s idiosyncrasies. Nobody else in the family, she felt, understood how unfair it was on her. She got scant reward and was taken for granted by everyone. She recalled how quickly her mother had abandoned her to take Cleary’s arm instead. That kind of petty rebuff had happened a hundred times. It might, however, be about to end soon.

  ‘The doctor is very worried about her,’ she said.

  ‘We’re all worried, Agnes.’

  ‘He doesn’t think she’s taking the tablets he’s given her.’

  ‘You should know if that’s the case.’

  ‘I can’t stand over her every minute of the day, Lucas.’

  ‘No, no, I accept that.’

  ‘It’s almost as if she’s … inviting death.’

  ‘Don’t be melodramatic.’

  ‘Her behaviour has been so weird since we learnt about Father.’

  ‘I suspect that all our behaviour has been like that, Agnes. I know that mine has. I’ve been swinging between grief and anger like a pendulum. And you’ve seen how tense Stanley has become. It’s an abnormal situation,’ said Lucas. ‘We’re bound to react in abnormal ways.’

  Agnes nodded. She could talk to Lucas in a way that was impossible with her other siblings. While Lydia had taunted her, Stanley had largely ignored her. Lucas at least seemed to notice that she existed.

  ‘What are the police doing?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s something I want to know as well,’ he said, decisively. ‘When the detective came from Scotland Yard, I wasn’t even allowed to meet him. Stanley had him out of the house in minutes. We should have helped the inspector. We know things about father that nobody else could tell him.’ He stood up. ‘In fact, in half an hour, I’m catching a train to Derby to meet this Inspector Colbeck.’

  ‘Have you told Stanley?’

  ‘I don’t need his permission, Agnes.’

  ‘He’ll think that you do.’

  ‘Well, he’s not here to stop me, is he? I’ll do as I please.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Stanley went into Nottingham to sort out the funeral arrangements. After that, he was going to call in at a pit near Ilkeston.’

  ‘Why is he doing that?’ she cried with sudden annoyance. ‘It’s so typical of him. Our dear Father was murdered and all that Stanley wants to do is to visit a mine. Doesn’t he care, Lucas? He’s supposed to be in mourning.’

  Because he was wedded to his work, Stanley Quayle saw little of his wife and even less of his childre
n. They formed a decorous background in his life. Even the death of his father could not keep him away from one of the family pits. His visit to the funeral director had been short to the point of rudeness. He’d simply given the man a list of requirements he’d written out, answered a few questions from him then gone off to Ilkeston. Keeping on the move, he discovered, was a useful distraction from the sorrow enveloping the rest of the family. Someone else could deal with the cards and the messages of condolence that kept coming in. He had more important things to do.

  The glimpse of Inspector Colbeck was worrying. He could think of no reason why the detective should be in Ilkeston. What he’d seen in the man’s face was a fleeting suspicion and it was as disturbing as it was irritating. It was almost as if Colbeck had just had something confirmed in his mind. Quayle had been at pains to keep his distance from the investigation and he made sure that nobody else in the family was involved. Lucas, in particular, was likely to be thoughtless and indiscreet. Family secrets best kept hidden could unwittingly be revealed and it could lead to embarrassment.

  As the carriage turned in through the main gates of the estate, he made a mental note to speak to his brother again and impress upon him the need to close ranks. The outside world should know nothing of the rift with Lydia, for instance, or of the other ugly skeletons in the closet. Stanley Quayle was an expert in repression, hiding things from the past so cunningly that nobody even knew that they were there. Reclining in the carriage, he rehearsed what he was going to say to his brother. It never occurred to him that at that very moment Lucas Quayle was on his way to Derby and that it was too late to rein him in.

  The visit to the London Library was an overwhelming experience for Victor Leeming when he called there that afternoon with Madeleine Colbeck. He’d never seen so many books before. Endless shelves were packed with a variety of reading matter for those who used the place regularly. Leeming had very few books in his own home. Colbeck had an extensive and wide-ranging stock but his collection could not compare with what was on display in the library. In reply to a polite enquiry, the man on duty behind the desk refused point-blank to reveal the names of their subscribers. It was only when Leeming explained that he was involved in a murder investigation that he got some cooperation. The man searched through the long list of readers but he was unable to find the name of Lydia Quayle among them. Reluctantly, Madeleine and the sergeant withdrew.

  ‘We’ll have to try elsewhere,’ she suggested.

  ‘What if she does use this library?’

  ‘Her name was not on their list.’

  ‘I know that, but perhaps she’s using a different name now. If she’s cut herself off completely from the Quayle family, she might have taken on another identity. It’s something that criminals often do.’

  ‘She’s not a criminal, Victor.’

  ‘The family seem to treat her like one.’

  As they came out into St James’s Square, he glanced nervously up and down in case any policemen were about. If he was recognised by one of them, it might be reported to Scotland Yard and he would have to answer awkward questions about why he was seen in the company of a woman when he was supposed to be conducting a search on his own. When an empty cab came in sight, he flagged it down. Madeleine gave the driver an address in New Oxford Street and they climbed in.

  ‘How did you know the number, Mrs Colbeck?’ he asked.

  ‘I borrow books from this library,’ she said. ‘It was one of the presents I had on my last birthday. Robert paid for my membership.’

  ‘Even I have heard of Mudie’s Lending Library.’

  ‘It’s been opened for less than twenty years but it’s been a huge success. In fact, there are so many books there now that they don’t have room to display them all. They had to move to larger premises but there still aren’t enough shelves.’

  ‘Libraries are a closed book to me,’ he said, artlessly.

  When Madeleine laughed, he realised what he’d said and apologised for the unintended pun, sinking back into his seat and listening to the steady clip-clop of the horse’s hooves. Leeming was not sanguine about their hopes of success. Sensing his pessimism, Madeleine sought to raise his spirits.

  ‘We’ll find Miss Quayle somehow,’ she said, brightly. ‘We have to.’

  When Colbeck returned to the Royal Hotel that afternoon, he found someone waiting for him. Lucas Quayle leapt up from his seat and accosted the detective. Having first gone to the police station in Derby, he’d been sent on to the hotel. Pleased to meet him, Colbeck felt rather conspicuous standing beside a man in mourning wear.

  ‘How did you pick me out so easily?’ he asked.

  ‘Superintendent Wigg gave me a description of you.’

  Colbeck smiled. ‘I can imagine that it was not altogether flattering. But you didn’t need to ask him, surely. Your brother could have told you what I looked like.’

  ‘Stanley gave us no information whatsoever about you,’ said Lucas Quayle. ‘We were merely told that you’d come and gone.’

  ‘That sums up my visit perfectly. It was a very short interview. Your brother was too … preoccupied.’

  ‘He often is, Inspector.’

  ‘Does he know that you’ve come to see me?’

  ‘No, he doesn’t. If I’d told him in advance, he’d have tried to stop me.’

  ‘But we need all the help we can get, Mr Quayle. Anything we can learn about your family is valuable to us.’

  They adjourned to a quiet corner of the lounge and lowered themselves into armchairs. Colbeck had the feeling that his visitor would be much more forthcoming than his brother. He anticipated the first question.

  ‘You’ll no doubt wish to know what progress we’ve made so far.’

  ‘Yes, I would,’ said Lucas Quayle.

  ‘I’d be happy to furnish you with a list of suspects but, unfortunately, we don’t have one as yet. There are one or two people who’ve … come to our attention, let us say, but an arrest is still a long way off.’

  ‘I appreciate that it may take time, Inspector.’

  ‘We’ve gathered a lot of evidence, however, and it’s pointing us in certain directions. That’s all I can tell you at present, sir.’

  ‘We put our trust in you, Inspector.’

  ‘What we still have are gaps to fill regarding your family.’

  ‘Ask me what you need to now.’

  ‘Then let me start where your brother ended my conversation with him,’ said Colbeck, testing him out. ‘What can you tell me about Gerard Burns?’

  Lucas Quayle did not flinch. He gave an honest reply, explaining that Burns had been a personable young man who did his job well and improved the gardens immeasurably. Nobody in the family had been aware of the fact that Lydia had fallen in love with the gardener. When the relationship came to light, Stanley Quayle had been as vengeful as their father. They both subjected Lydia to a verbal onslaught that left her distraught. While he didn’t entirely approve of the romance with Burns, Lucas Quayle had been more sympathetic towards his sister. He admitted that he’d had one or two foolish dalliances in his past and argued that it gave him a degree of understanding of Lydia’s position. Colbeck stepped in.

  ‘With respect Mr Quayle,’ he said, ‘I don’t think that there’s any similarity between you and your sister here. You confess quite openly that you were briefly led astray but the relationship between Burns and your sister was far more committed. They even considered elopement.’

  Lucas Quayle was thunderstruck. ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘It was Mr Burns himself.’

  ‘You’ve spoken to him?’

  ‘After the way that your brother reacted to the mere mention of his name, I simply had to. Burns was certainly no philanderer. His love for your sister was deep and genuine, and it was requited.’ The other man nodded sadly. ‘Burns told me that he was thrown off the estate and that your sister was sent abroad.’

  ‘That was Stanley’s idea. If it had been left to him, Lydia would h
ave ended up at the North Pole but they compromised on Italy. She’d always wanted to go there. Father believed that three months of Mediterranean sunshine would remind her of her duty to the family and wipe the memory of Gerard Burns from her mind.’

  ‘The plan didn’t work, sir.’

  ‘I know that. Lydia was still infatuated with him.’

  ‘Are you aware that your father took steps to keep Burns away from her?’

  ‘He used his influence to ensure that the fellow would never work in the area again. Father could be brutal on occasion and so can my brother. They watched Lydia like hawks. It was demeaning for her.’

  Colbeck realised that he was clearly unaware of the threats of violence made against Burns but decided against telling him. Lucas Quayle might disbelieve him. If he did, there was no point in blackening the image of his father in a younger son’s mind days away from the funeral. The tense situation at the house, he learnt, did not last indefinitely. When she reached her twenty-first birthday, Lydia had come into enough money to support herself in relative comfort. It also gave her the confidence to challenge her father and then to defy him. Though he didn’t know the full details, her younger brother said that there’d been a fierce argument before his elder sister had left the house for good.

  ‘Did none of you keep in touch with her?’ asked Colbeck.

  ‘We were ordered not to, Inspector.’

  ‘How did you feel about that?’

  ‘I was very upset. I’d always liked Lydia. She had so much more life in her than Agnes, my younger sister. As long as she stayed at home, however, Lydia was having that life squeezed out of her. It was painful to watch.’

  ‘Tell me about your father, sir.’

  ‘If you’ve met Stanley, you already know the essence of his character.’

  ‘Are they so alike?’

  ‘Yes, Inspector, they love to be in charge.’

  While he spoke with some affection for his father, Lucas Quayle did not disguise the man’s driving ambition and his determination to get the better of his rivals in whatever walk of life. Vivian Quayle had had two passions – one was for collecting the fine china that Colbeck had seen on display in the study, and the other was for the game of cricket.