Peril on the Royal Train Page 4

  ‘You all know why we’re here,’ he said, crisply. ‘In spite of years of protest, the railway companies remain defiant. They insist on running trains on the Sabbath and flouting the teaching of the Good Book. We have protested time and time again but all to no avail. Posters and pamphlets have a limited effect. All that they can do is to express our opinion. They are not enough in themselves to change minds.’

  ‘Tam is right,’ interjected his diminutive wife. ‘We need to do more.’

  ‘What else can we do?’ asked Gregor Hines, a sagging old man with a white beard. ‘There are only so many ways of legitimate protest. We’ve tried them all.’

  ‘That’s why we must employ other means,’ insisted Howie. ‘Some like-minded people have already done that and we must follow suit. We must be ready to break the law to achieve our ends.’

  A faint murmur of agreement was swiftly muffled under a concerted growl of dissent. They were pillars of the community, law-abiding people who led lives of moral probity. A few might be prepared to consider taking direct action against the railways but the majority felt that it was a step too far. Of the women, only Flora Howie was in favour of it.

  ‘If we cause trouble,’ she argued, ‘it not only makes the railway companies aware of the strength of our beliefs, it also gets valuable attention. Look what happened earlier today. Someone who understands the true meaning of the Sabbath painted a warning on one of the Caledonian’s locomotives. It was mentioned in this evening’s paper.’

  ‘But who saw it?’ croaked Hines. ‘Hardly anyone, I fancy. Readers would only have been interested in the story on the front page about that terrible crash in Annandale.’

  ‘That was an act of God,’ claimed Nell, his wife, a skeletal figure in a black dress. ‘It was a warning from on high to all who run trains on a Sunday.’

  ‘It was a warning, certainly,’ agreed Howie, ‘but it was not delivered by the Almighty. The newspaper report was categorical. That disaster was contrived by human hand. Someone is doing our job for us.’

  Gasps of outrage filled the room and Nell Hines spluttered in disbelief. Seeing that he’d gone too far, Howie did his best to retrieve the situation.

  ‘Don’t misunderstand me,’ he said, calming them down with outstretched palms. ‘I don’t for a moment condone a strategy that leads to the loss of life. I utterly deplore it. What I applaud, however, is the way that the incident has gained attention. The whole of Scotland is aware of it and it will hurt the Caledonian Railway in its pocket. In short, it achieved its objective. Why can’t we do something similar?’ he went on, raising his voice above the rumbling discontent. ‘Hear me out, friends. I’m not advocating a repetition of what happened. That was a cruel and criminal act. But it does show what consequences flow from a blockage on the line on a Sunday. It would be a wonderful advertisement for our cause.’

  ‘Are you telling us to commit a heinous crime?’ asked Hines.

  ‘Shame on you, Tam Howie!’ added Nell.

  ‘It’s unthinkable.’

  ‘More to the point, it’s unchristian.’

  ‘In any case, how are my dear wife and I supposed to block the line? Do you want us to prostrate ourselves across the track like sacrificial victims? Is that the sabbatarian gospel now? Must we spend the day of rest lying horizontally side by side like so many railway sleepers? Away with you, man,’ said Hines scornfully. ‘You’ve taken leave of your senses.’

  ‘We must do something more extreme,’ declared Howie, eyes blazing with passion. ‘It’s not enough to write letters and organise petitions. We’re on the side of God against Mammon. Our enemies will stop at nothing and nor should we. We must fight fire with fire.’

  ‘Listen to Tam,’ pleaded his wife. ‘My husband is talking sense.’

  ‘He’s talking the whole pack of us into prison,’ said Hines, sourly.

  ‘Only if we’re caught, Gregor,’ countered Howie, ‘and we’re far too intelligent to let that happen. We’ve raised our voices for years and we might as well be baying at the moon. Railway companies will always put profit before religious observance. Where voices fail, action can succeed. You must see that.’

  The old man shook his head. ‘What I see is the road to damnation. You’ll not turn Nell and me into common criminals. We’ll defend the sanctity of the Sabbath until our dying day but we won’t do it by breaking the law or behaving like vandals.’

  ‘Gregor speaks for me,’ said Nell, patting her husband on the back.

  ‘And for me,’ piped up another voice.

  ‘Let’s hear Tam out,’ suggested a portly man. ‘There may be a kernel of truth in what he says. Let him finish before we condemn his idea outright.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Howie with a nod of gratitude. ‘I’m glad that one person is prepared to listen. My plan of action would be this …’

  But the argument had already been lost. Though his speech was cogent and his conviction undeniable, Howie converted only two of them to his point of view. The rest remained implacably opposed. When a vote was taken, he had to concede defeat. His fellow sabbatarians were always ready to spend time and money on promoting their beliefs. They would happily stand outside railway stations in the driving rain with placards urging passengers to respect the Sabbath but that was the extent of their protest. Taking active steps to prevent trains from running on a Sunday was beyond them. As they trooped out of the house, they bade farewell to their hosts.

  Gregor Hines was the last to leave. After shaking Howie’s hand, he peered at it with interest then raised an admonitory eyebrow.

  ‘You’ve still got paint on your fingernails, Tam,’ he said, knowingly. ‘Since you’re far too honest a man to lie, I’ll not ask you how it got there.’

  Nairn Craig was so pleased to see the detectives that he shook their hands with an exuberance that boarded on physical assault. Fires kept the fading light at bay and allowed Colbeck and Leeming to assess the full scope of the disaster. They looked around with a mixture of dismay and sympathy. Colbeck’s thoughts were with the families of the three victims while Leeming dismissed his own family from his mind. To dwell on his absence from them was an act of selfishness. He accepted that now. They’d been right to come to Scotland. What he saw filled him with an urge to catch those responsible for the chaos. It was a crime that yearned for punishment.

  ‘The facts, as I understand them,’ said Craig, ‘are these …’

  ‘There’s no need to explain, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘We are already well informed about the incident. It was the talk of Carlisle when we changed trains there.’

  ‘I should have known that you’d gather information in transit.’

  ‘It was not only information, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘We had to listen to a lot of wild guesswork as well. One man claimed that the rockfall was the work of Irish rebels, while another believed that a witch had placed a curse on your company. Then there was the fellow who said that the Caledonian Railway was subjected to the wrath of heaven because of the high prices you charged.’

  Craig blenched. ‘That’s certainly not the case, Sergeant.’

  ‘Rumour is always more colourful than the truth,’ said Colbeck.

  He went on to give the general manager a succinct account of what they already knew. Amazed at the detail so far gleaned, Craig was unable to add anything of value. Instead he began to talk about accommodation for the detectives.

  ‘Before we discuss that,’ said Colbeck, politely interrupting him, ‘I’d like to see the exact spot where the collision took place. I take it that you’ve cleared away the rocks by now.’

  ‘We have, indeed,’ said Craig, taking in the whole site with a gesture. ‘It may not look like it, but we’ve made huge strides already. Once the cranes and the winches were brought here, we began to make real progress.’

  ‘That’s commendable, sir. What of the procurator fiscal’s investigation?’

  ‘It’s being led by Inspector Rae. He’s an able man but has none of the specialist knowledg
e that you and the sergeant possess. He’s been here for most of the day and will return again tomorrow. You can meet him then.’

  ‘Was he told of our imminent arrival?’

  Craig pulled a face. ‘Yes, he was.’

  ‘I can see that it didn’t meet with his approval,’ said Colbeck, amused.

  ‘Inspector Rae does not welcome rivals.’

  ‘Then he should see us in the guise of assistants.’

  ‘What about your own railway police?’ asked Leeming.

  ‘They’ve been working at full stretch,’ replied Craig. ‘As a matter of fact, I believe that you’re already acquainted with our superintendent.’

  Right on cue, Rory McTurk emerged from behind an overturned wagon with the dramatic suddenness of a pantomime villain appearing through a trapdoor. The others were startled. It was obvious that he’d been there all along, eavesdropping on their conversation. After glaring at Colbeck and Leeming in turn, he manufactured a cold smile.

  ‘We meet again, gentlemen,’ he said.

  ‘I can’t say that it’s a happy reunion,’ muttered Leeming.

  ‘But we must adapt to circumstance,’ said Colbeck, veiling his dislike of the man. ‘First of all, I must congratulate you on your promotion, Superintendent. When we first met, you were working as an inspector of the LNWR.’

  McTurk inflated his chest. ‘The Caledonian Railway recognised my merits.’

  ‘The superintendent has given us good service,’ endorsed Craig.

  ‘You’ll not find me wanting, sir.’

  ‘We did,’ said Leeming, softly.

  ‘This crime took place on my patch and I want it cleared up quickly.’

  ‘We all share that objective,’ said Colbeck, irritated by the man’s proprietorial tone, ‘but an investigation on this scale is way beyond your jurisdiction and – if I may say so – hopelessly beyond your capabilities.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ howled McTurk, stung by the criticism.

  ‘Inspector Colbeck has hit the mark,’ said Craig, quelling the superintendent with a glance. ‘You simply police the railway. Don’t stray beyond that remit.’

  ‘That’s not to say we don’t welcome your help,’ resumed Colbeck, offering some balm to McTurk’s injured pride. ‘You obviously know the area far better than us and are infinitely more familiar with the operation of this railway.’

  ‘I know everything better than you, Inspector,’ asserted McTurk. ‘I was among the first people here after the crash and I worked throughout the night.’

  ‘Your devotion to duty is admirable. I’m sure that Mr Craig realises that.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Craig, ‘Well done, McTurk!’

  ‘There’s no more loyal servant of the Caledonian,’ said the giant Scotsman, reaching a hand into his beard as if to extract glowing testimonials of his worth. ‘I’ll always put it first.’

  ‘We’re more interested in the company’s enemies than in its servants,’ said Colbeck, ‘and you must already have formulated a theory as to which of those enemies is culpable for this atrocious crime.’

  ‘It has to be the NBR,’ urged McTurk.

  Craig was unconvinced. ‘That’s an allegation based on insufficient evidence.’

  ‘The North British want to cause maximum disruption, sir.’

  ‘But that’s not what they’ve done,’ Leeming pointed out.

  ‘Of course, it is, man. Look around you.’

  ‘It’s closed the line, I agree, Superintendent. But it could have been worse. Inspector Colbeck was quick to note that there were only three victims. Had a passenger train been derailed, there’d have been many more deaths and you’d be digging out the bodies for days. There’d have been much more disruption.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ admitted Craig.

  ‘We were lucky,’ conceded McTurk. ‘By the grace of God, a goods train came along the track first and ran into that pile of rock.’

  ‘I hate to disagree with you,’ said Colbeck with a disarming smile, ‘but luck played no part whatsoever. The goods train was a designated target. It was derailed by someone who knew precisely when it would arrive at the chosen spot. How many people would have access to that information?’

  ‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed Craig, clutching at his throat. ‘Are you suggesting that someone from within the company is behind this?’

  ‘Not everyone is as loyal as Superintendent McTurk, sir.’

  ‘Why choose that particular train?’

  ‘It’s one of the many things I intend to find out,’ replied Colbeck. ‘I’m assuming that a rockfall of that size could only have been engineered with the help of gunpowder? Did nobody hear the blast and raise the alarm?’

  ‘You are showing your ignorance, Inspector,’ said McTurk, relishing the opportunity to score a point against him. ‘If you knew the area as well as I do, you’d know there was a quarry a mile or so away. The sounds of an explosion are quite normal. Even the sheep are no longer disturbed by it.’

  ‘Thank you for educating me on that point.’

  ‘I suspect that there’ll be a lot more schooling to be done before we’ve finished. But I hold to my claim that the NBR is behind this. More than one former employee of the Caledonian now works for our rival. They’d be aware of the timetables for the movement of freight on this line.’

  ‘That’s very astute of you, Superintendent,’ said Craig.

  ‘I’m more than a mere railway policeman, sir.’

  ‘There’s nothing “mere” about guarding the railway,’ said Colbeck, seriously. ‘It’s a vital job and I salute anyone who undertakes it. As for the NBR, they are, of necessity, potential suspects but no more than that. It would be both wrong and impulsive of us to settle on one of your commercial rivals when you have others, not least among them the Edinburgh and Glasgow Railway.’

  ‘And don’t forget the sabbatarians,’ advised Leeming. ‘It could be them.’

  ‘It could be the work of a dozen or more suspects. We need to look at each and every one of them before we make a final judgement. That will mean a painstaking process of gathering evidence and interviewing an appreciable number of people. Well, now,’ said Colbeck, turning to McTurk, ‘perhaps we could avail ourselves of your superior knowledge of the actual crash. Please conduct us to the point on the line where it occurred and indicate its salient features.’ He stepped back to let the Scotsman pass. ‘We’re in your hands, Superintendent.’

  Basking in his temporary authority, McTurk inflated his chest again.

  ‘Follow me, gentlemen …’

  It was a warm night with only the whisper of a breeze to rustle the leaves on the trees. Most of the flock were grazing in the gloom or sleeping in huddled groups. Jamie Farr was checking the pens where the newborn lambs were nestling against their mothers. He was kept busy. One lamb had got its head caught in the fence and had to be rescued while another was trapped beneath the full weight of its mother before being eased out by the shepherd. Angus tripped along beside his master, letting the sheep know that he was in control by poking his head into their little domains and showing his teeth. It was a slow, unhurried patrol and it was repeated at various intervals. The sheep comprised Farr’s family and he nurtured them accordingly.

  He was the only survivor of five sons. His mother had died trying to bring the fifth into the world. Farr was left alone with his father and, though they worked together, he saw little of the older man during the day and even less at night. It made for a lonely life. Colin Farr had coped with the death of his wife and four children by turning to drink. Whenever he could afford it – and often when he could not – he’d walk the two miles to a village pub. Jamie always braced himself for his father’s return. It was never a happy homecoming. Colin Farr was either disgustingly drunk or railing at the world for his misfortunes. If his son didn’t have to put him to bed, he had to listen to an hour of pointless ranting.

  Sometimes – especially during winter – the father might not be able to get
back safely to their tiny stone cottage. He’d collapse on the sodden ground or get caught in a snowstorm. Farr had to rescue him, braving the bad weather to find out where his father was and to carry him back home. He rarely got any thanks for his efforts. When his father came out of his stupor, he was more likely to hurl abuse at his son. Farr had learnt to suffer in silence. For the sake of his mother’s memory, he could not protest, challenge or strike back.

  It was late when Farr heard the distinctive dragging sound of his father’s footsteps. The long-suffering son didn’t know what to expect. He’d either have to endure a display of drunken merriment or a bout of maudlin reminiscence. On this occasion, however, it was neither. When he lifted the latch and walked into the room, Colin Farr was almost sober. There was no swaying, no swearing and no threat of violence. He looked down at his son, perched on a stool beneath the lantern that hung from the cobwebbed beam.

  ‘I’ve news for ye, Jamie,’ he said.

  ‘It’s time for bed,’ suggested Farr. ‘I only stayed up till ye came.’

  ‘And ye’ll be glad that ye did.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘I’ve something to tell ye, lad.’

  ‘Save it till t’morrer.’

  ‘This willna keep,’ said the father, grabbing him by the shoulder as he rose from the stool. ‘D’ye ken what I heerd at the inn tonight?’

  ‘How could I?’

  ‘There’s a fortune to be had.’

  ‘What are ye talking about?’

  ‘It was Rab Logan as told us,’ said the father, ‘but, then, he always did have big ears.’ He cackled aloud. ‘Rab’s got bigger ears than a donkey.’