Murder on the Brighton Express (24 page)

‘How much longer is this going to go on, Alexander?’ she
asked.

‘As long as I choose,’ he replied.

‘I’ll do
anything
to win back your good favour.’

‘You’re doing it, Dorothea – by suffering.’

‘You can’t keep me here forever.’

‘I can do whatever I like with you.’

‘But I’m your
wife
,’ she pleaded.

‘Oh, you’ve remembered that, have you?’ he said with sarcasm. ‘You always do when I come ashore. It’s a pity you don’t remember it when I’m away at sea.’

‘But I do – I’m proud that Captain Jamieson is my husband.’

‘My name is simply a shield behind which you hide.’

She spread her arms. ‘What am I supposed to have done?’

‘You know quite well what you did and, until you confess it, you’ll stay locked up here like an animal. I want to hear you tell me the truth, Dorothea. I want to
know
what happened.’

‘Nothing happened!’ she wailed.

‘Don’t lie to me!’

He raised his hand to strike her then held back at the last moment. Dorothea cringed in front of him. She looked wretched. Her time in the outhouse had robbed her of her good looks, her dignity and her confidence. Jamieson felt no compassion for her. As he stroked his beard and gazed down at her, his only emotion was a deep hatred. He would keep her locked up indefinitely.

‘I prayed that you’d come home safely from your voyage,’ she said, ‘but, when you did, you flew into such a rage. I’ve been trapped in here for over a week now. It’s
cruel
, Alexander. My only sustenance has been bread and water.’

‘That’s all you deserve.’

‘Do you despise your wife so much?’

‘What I despise,’ he said, ‘is the woman who’s been posing as my wife while acting as someone else’s mistress.’

Dorothea backed away. She knew that he had a temper but she had never been its victim before. She still had the bruises on her arms where he had grabbed her before pulling her across the courtyard to the outhouse. Confronted with his accusations, she had thought it best to say nothing for fear of stoking his rage. Dorothea had hoped that her husband might calm down as the days passed and even allow her back into the house. If anything, his fury had intensified.

‘I suspected something the last time I was home,’ he said, ‘but I was unable to prove anything. Before I sailed, I engaged a private detective to keep an eye on you.’

‘That was an appalling thing to do,’ she said with as much indignation as she could gather. ‘What sort of husband stoops to spying on his wife?’

‘One who fears that he’s being cuckolded, Dorothea. It was, alas, no groundless fear. When I saw the report about you, I refused to accept it at first. Then I read the damning evidence.’

‘What evidence, Alexander? Am I not entitled to defend myself against it? Will you really accept someone else’s word against mine?’

‘The evidence concerned Thursday of every week.’

‘I went up to London to see some friends,’ she explained.

Jamieson sneered. ‘One particular friend,’ he said.

‘I always came back late in the evening – ask the servants.’

‘I did ask them but they were ready to lie on your behalf. That’s why I dismissed them and why there’s nobody in the
house to hear your cries for help. They said that you always came back home,’ he continued, ‘but the man following you is certain that you spent the night at a certain address on a number of occasions.’

‘I missed the train, that’s all.’

‘A woman like you never misses a train, Dorothea.’

‘I remember now,’ she said, lunging at the first excuse that came to mind. ‘The weather was inclement. I was forced to stay over.’

‘On every single occasion?’

‘Yes, Alexander.’

‘And always in the same house?’

‘My friend, Sophie, pressed me to stay. Why not ask her?’

‘Because I’m sure that she’d lie on your behalf as readily as the servants,’ he said. ‘Besides, she doesn’t live in that house. It’s owned by the Reverend Ezra Follis.’

‘That’s right,’ she said, changing her tack. ‘He offered me shelter on those nights when the weather turned nasty. Yes, that’s what really happened. Why not speak to Mr Follis himself?’

‘I never want to exchange another word with that philanderer. The man is a disgrace to the cloth,’ he said, contemptuously. ‘I’m sure that he made you feel that you were special to him but the hideous truth is that you were just the next in line, Dorothea. You shared a bed that had already been tainted by other women.’

‘I didn’t share a bed with anybody.’

‘Then you must be the only one of his victims who didn’t. The detective I hired was very thorough. He gave me all their names. He even tracked down Marion Inigo.’

She was stunned. ‘Mrs Inigo, who used to be his
housekeeper?’

‘Yes, Dorothea,’ he replied, ‘except that she was never actually married. Marion Inigo used to spend Thursday night at that very same house with the Rector of St Dunstan’s. She lives in London now, bringing up their child in the cottage he bought her.’

‘I don’t believe this,’ she said, abandoning all pretence of innocence. ‘Ezra would never look at a woman like Marion Inigo. He got rid of her because she was becoming too familiar.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘She was nothing but a
servant.
’

‘That servant is the mother of his son.’

‘It’s impossible.’

‘I have incontrovertible proof.’

She was distraught. ‘Can this be true?’

Jamieson relished her pain. ‘Would you like the names of his other conquests?’ he taunted.

Dorothea reeled as if from a blow. Her romance with Ezra Follis had rescued her from long, lonely months when she was on her own. She had taken immense pains to be discreet. Yet not only had her infidelity been exposed, she now discovered that the man who claimed to love her had seduced a string of women before her. It was crippling.

‘Goodbye, Dorothea,’ said her husband, opening the door. ‘I’m going to London myself today so you’ll have to manage without any food until tomorrow. If,’ he added, ‘I decide to bring you any, that is.’

‘Where are you going, Alexander?’

‘I intend to look at his house for myself. I want to see where my marriage was ruined and make sure that no other trusting husband is cuckolded there.’

She grabbed his arm. ‘You won’t
hurt
Ezra, will you?’

‘I’ll do exactly that,’ he said, flinging her aside. ‘When I’ve destroyed his house, I’ll destroy him.’

Jamieson went out, slammed the door and locked it. Dorothea lay on the ground where she had fallen and wept. Her situation was hopeless. All that she could think of doing was to pray for forgiveness.

Seated in the hansom cab, Colbeck and Leeming were driven towards the house owned by Captain Alexander Jamieson. They felt that they at last had the evidence they required.

‘When I read out the names on that list,’ said Colbeck, ‘Mr Follis denied having heard of any of them. He even stuck to his denial when I showed him the telescope. Then you turned up at the hospital with a positive identification from Mrs Ashmore and that forced him to tell the truth. He
did
know Captain Jamieson.’

‘Why did he lie so stubbornly to you, Inspector?’

‘The rector had something to hide.’

‘If this Captain Jamieson is a suspect,’ said Leeming, ‘you’d have thought that Mr Follis would volunteer his name at the start.’

‘I’m sure he had good reason to deceive us,’ said Colbeck. ‘I’ll be interested to discover exactly what it is.’

The cab pulled up outside a big, white, detached Regency house standing on an acre of land. After ordering the driver to wait, Colbeck got out. Leeming followed him up the steps to the front door. They rang the bell several times but to no effect. Telling the sergeant to stay at the front of the property, Colbeck went around to the side. He peered over the fence into the garden.

‘Is anyone there?’ he shouted, cupping his hands. ‘We’re
looking for Captain Jamieson. Is he at home?’

There was no response from the house itself but he heard a cry from the outhouse on the other side of the courtyard. The voice was too indistinct for him to hear the exact words but he could tell that a woman was in distress. He called Leeming and the sergeant bent down so that Colbeck could step on to his back and jump over the fence. Running to the outhouse, he tried the door and found it locked.

‘Who’s that inside?’ he asked.

‘I’m Mrs Dorothea Jamieson,’ she answered.

‘My name is Detective Inspector Colbeck and I was hoping to speak to your husband. Is he here?’

‘No, Inspector – can you get me out?’ she begged.

‘Stand back from the door.’

After trying to kick it open, he put his shoulder to the timber but it still would not budge. Colbeck looked around and saw a plank of wood nearby. Picking it up, he used it like a battering ram to pound away at the door. After resisting for a short while, the lock suddenly snapped and the door was flung back on its hinges.

Crouching in the corner by the mattress was the pathetic figure of Dorothea Jamieson. She looked up with a fear that was tempered with relief. Someone had rescued her at last. Bursting into tears, she got up and hurled herself into Colbeck’s arms.

He caught the first available train to London even though it stopped at various stations on the way. Finding an empty carriage near the front, Captain Jamieson sat down and opened the newspaper he had just bought. It was not merely something to divert him on the journey. It would
act as kindling when he burnt down Ezra Follis’s house and destroyed the scene of his wife’s betrayal. Once that was done, he could seal the clergyman’s fate by hiring a more reliable killer. Only when his wife wept over Follis’s dead body would his vengeful feelings be appeased.

The signal was given, the locomotive started up and the train moved slowly along in a series of jangling harmonies. Jamieson was happy to be on his way to exact retribution. What he did not realise was that two men had just run along the platform beside the moving train and leapt into the last carriage.

‘That was dangerous,’ said Victor Leeming, breathlessly, as he sat down. ‘If I’m forced to travel by train, I at least expect it to be standing still when I get on it.’

‘We had to catch this one,’ said Colbeck, ‘whatever the risk.’

‘How can you be sure that he’s on it?’

‘You heard what his wife told us. Captain Jamieson left only minutes before we arrived. He’d have got to the station not long ahead of us. Since I’ve been travelling up and down to Brighton so much, I learnt the timetable by heart. This was the first possible train he could have caught.’

‘I bet he didn’t wait until it was moving,’ said Leeming.

The carriage was largely empty. Their only companion was an elderly man trying to read a book through his monocle. He ignored them studiously. Leeming leant in close to whisper to Colbeck.

‘Why do you think he locked his wife up, sir?’

‘I don’t know, Victor,’ replied the other, ‘but I wouldn’t advise you to do it to Estelle by way of a birthday present. It
could never compete with a pretty new bonnet and shawl.’

The train chugged on until Hassocks Gate station came into sight. It gradually slowed down and ran beside the platform until stopping with a jerk. Colbeck got out alone, leaving the sergeant at the rear of the train to cut off any escape attempt by their quarry. Walking along the platform, Colbeck glanced into each carriage, searching for the bearded man whose description he now had. Since additional passengers had just joined it, the train was half-full. There were lots of faces to check. Colbeck saw a couple of men with beards but they were the wrong age and the wrong shape to be Alexander Jamieson.

It was a long train at a short stop. Before the inspector had checked every carriage, it began to move again. He trotted alongside it, peering into the few remaining carriages. When he spotted the man with the black beard, he knew that he had found his suspect. Pulling open the door, Colbeck dived in and closed it behind him.

‘Captain Jamieson?’ he asked.

‘Who the devil are you?’ demanded the other.

‘My name is Inspector Colbeck and I’ve come to arrest you.’

Jamieson’s reaction was immediate. He threw a punch that caught Colbeck on the chin and dazed him for a moment. Trying to get away, Jamieson opened the door to jump down on to the line, only to find that another train was coming towards them. In desperation, he instead climbed upwards on to the roof of the carriage, hoping to work his way back along the train so that he could leap off at the next station while Colbeck was still in the carriage near the front.

Having spent most of his life at sea, Jamieson had a sailor’s
nimbleness and sense of balance. He felt secure on the roof of a moving train and safe from any pursuit. He had not taken account of the detective’s resolve and agility. Removing his hat, Colbeck followed him through the door and got a firm grip before pulling himself up on to the roof. Jamieson was already two carriages away from him but his movement was hampered by the luggage that had been stored on top of the train. Colbeck, too, had to clamber over trunks, valises and hatboxes while maintaining his balance on the swaying roof. Jamieson was amazed to see that he was being followed.

‘Give yourself up, Captain Jamieson,’ advised Colbeck, getting closer all the time. ‘There’s no escape. I have another man on the train to help me. You can’t elude the both of us.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ snarled the other.

‘We’re trained detectives, sir, well used to arresting violent suspects. We’re not a defenceless woman like your wife whom you can lock up in your outhouse.’

Jamieson was startled. ‘How do you know about that?’

‘We know everything about you. We know what you paid Dick Chiffney to do and why you hate the Reverend Follis. You can either surrender while it’s safe to do so,’ said Colbeck, ‘or risk being thrown off onto the rails. Which is it to be?’

‘Neither,’ said Jamieson, walking towards him and snatching up a leather trunk. ‘Goodbye, Inspector.’