Peril on the Royal Train (28 page)

When the door opened, Sir Richard Mayne sailed in. Colbeck stood up out of politeness and Tallis conjured up a deferential smile. After a nod at Colbeck, the commissioner turned his gaze on the superintendent.

‘What’s all that bellowing for?’ he asked. ‘I expected an invitation to enter this office, not an assault on my eardrums. What’s going on in here?’

‘Nothing, Sir Richard,’ said Tallis with a hollow laugh. ‘The inspector and I were having a conversation, that’s all. It’s over now. How did you fare at the palace?’

‘I was kept waiting an interminable amount of time. When I finally did have an audience with Prince Albert, it took me ages to convince him that the threat was real.’ He turned to Colbeck. ‘It was only when I mentioned the inspector’s name that he began to listen properly. He has great respect for you, Inspector.’

‘That’s very gratifying to hear,’ said Colbeck, modestly.

‘What decision has been taken?’ asked Tallis.

‘None,’ replied Mayne.

‘But it can’t be left hanging in the air, Sir Richard.’

‘I made that point a number of times.’

‘Perhaps
I
should speak to His Royal Highness.’

‘That’s out of the question,’ said Mayne. ‘Prince Albert wishes to see only Inspector Colbeck and Archibald Renwick. They must present themselves at the palace at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.’

‘We’ll be there, Sir Richard,’ said Colbeck, obediently.

‘I should go with you,’ asserted Tallis. ‘If I am to run this investigation, I must be involved at the highest level.’

‘Two people were requested by name,’ said Mayne, coldly, ‘and you were not one of them, Superintendent. Colbeck and Renwick can manage perfectly well without you looking over their shoulder. Isn’t that true, Inspector?’

Colbeck smiled. ‘I believe that it is.’

It had been a wearisome day for Victor Leeming. After his visit to the rehearsal room, he went in search of one of the men whose name he’d been given by Buckmaster. It took him to a squalid tavern in a Deptford backstreet. Feeling out of place and blatantly unwelcome, Leeming nursed a pint of beer for over an hour before Orlando Foxe finally turned up. Old, haggard and decrepit, the newcomer nevertheless had a faded grandeur about him. He tossed a mane of silver curls and used expressive gestures. To get his attention, all that Leeming had to do was to invite him to sit at his table and to buy him a drink. Foxe poured it down his throat as if emptying a bucket of water.

‘I needed that,’ he said, smacking his lips.

‘I’m told that you give elocution lessons,’ Leeming began.

‘I give lessons of any kind that bring in money, my dear friend. What you see before you is a master of his art, a veteran of the theatre, a thespian supreme. I can teach you how to speak properly onstage, sing a sweet ditty, move with true dignity, employ every manner of gesture and handle a sword convincingly in a duel. You will also learn how to wear costumes as if they belonged to you. No aspect of drama is beyond my scope. All that I require is appropriate remuneration.’

‘I’m not here on my own account, Mr Foxe.’

‘You wish to engage my services for a friend?’

‘Not exactly,’ said Leeming. ‘I’m anxious to track someone down and I believe that he may be a pupil of yours.’

Foxe became wary. ‘What makes you think that?’

‘This gentleman would want the best teacher and I’m told that that’s you.’

‘I can’t disagree with that,’ said Foxe with a lordly wave of a hand. ‘My reputation goes before me. Who recommended me?’

‘It was an actor by the name of Nigel Buckmaster.’

Foxe gasped. ‘Don’t mention that foul fiend!’

‘But he spoke well of you, sir.’

‘Keep that charlatan away from me!’ cried Foxe, holding up both arms as if to ward off a blow. ‘It was he who ruined my career. I’ll never forgive the rogue for that. Treachery, thy name is Buckmaster!’ He grabbed Leeming’s arm. ‘You have just twisted the knife in a very deep wound. I was a leading actor before that bombastic fool first stepped on a stage. My talent is natural while his is artificial. We have nothing whatsoever in common.’

Leeming disagreed. In his view, Foxe and Buckmaster were hewn from the same rock. Both men were imposing, egotistical and blessed with deep, rich voices. Indeed, Foxe might have been an older version of the actor-manager. Evidently, there was intense professional rivalry between them. Not wishing to inflame Foxe again, he changed his tack.

‘You must come across many different accents,’ he said, casually.

‘None as untutored as your own, I dare swear.’

Leeming rode over the insult. ‘What’s the most difficult to get rid of?’

‘That depends on how hard each individual is prepared to work,’ said Foxe. ‘A good student will shed the most dreadful accent in a matter of months, if not weeks; a bad one is stuck with it for life. Everything comes down to dedication.’

‘Some voices must be more difficult to improve. I’ve just returned from a visit to Scotland. They talk in gibberish there. Could you make a Scotsman speak English in a way I could understand?’

Foxe was fuming. ‘
I
am a Scotsman,’ he declared, one hand to his breast, ‘and I resent that slur on my nation. We have the purest vowels and the most decisive consonants in the whole British Isles. If you’ve come to mock us, begone with you! What gives you the right to sneer at us when you speak as if you have a live crab crawling around inside your mouth?’ He jabbed a finger. ‘Who
are
you, anyway?’

‘My name is Victor Leeming, sir.’

‘Then take yourself off, Mr Leeming.’

‘I didn’t give you my full title – it’s Detective Sergeant Leeming of the Metropolitan Police Force.’

A look of terror came into Foxe’s eyes and he shrank back in his chair.

‘Don’t arrest me, sir,’ he pleaded. ‘I run a legitimate business and my charges are very modest. Ignore any complaints made against me. I’m an honourable man.’

‘Your honour is not in question,’ said Leeming, trying to soothe him with a smile that only disturbed him even more. ‘It’s one of your clients who interests me. He’s a very
dishonourable
man.’

‘Then he is not one of my students. I’m highly selective.’

‘His real name is Patrick Scanlan but we know for a fact that he uses a number of aliases. He hails from Willenhall in Staffordshire and you’d have known it from his voice when he first came to London. Someone got rid of his accent for him.’

‘So I should hope. It would reek of smoking chimneys.’

‘We need to find him,’ said Leeming, seriously. ‘There could be a reward for the person who tells us where he is.’

Temptation brought a glow to Foxe’s face. The promise of money fired his imagination and he began to invent a story about someone who came to him with a Black Country accent. Even as the fictional character formed in his mind, however, he realised that he could not bamboozle Leeming. The sergeant was too experienced to be taken in by a patent lie. Foxe’s only option was to fall back on honesty.

‘I can tell you, hand on heart,’ he said, ‘that I’ve never met the fellow.’

Leeming believed him. Foxe had an actor’s prodigious memory. If he’d encountered Patrick Scanlan, he’d remember him. The visit to Deptford had been in vain yet it might still yield something of value.

‘Do you happen to know what an iambic pentameter is?’ asked Leeming.

Ever since Colbeck had confided in him, Nairn Craig had been stretched on a rack of apprehension. Unable to sleep, he became increasingly fatigued. Unable to tell his wife about the danger to the royal family, he simply claimed that he was not feeling well. Colleagues at work like John Mudie noticed the bags under his eyes and the shortness of his temper but they knew better than to question him. It would be like thrusting a bare hand into a wasp’s nest. Craig had to keep the terrible secret bottled up inside him. It caused him constant discomfort yet he accepted Colbeck’s argument that the information could not be voiced abroad. With his company under threat yet again, he became obsessed with finding the most likely spot where any attack would occur. When his visitor called on him, Craig was scrutinising a map on his desk.

‘Good day to you,’ said Malcolm Rae, cheerily.

‘Ah, hello, Inspector – what brings you here?’

‘I’m wondering what happened to the Railway Detective.’

‘Inspector Colbeck has returned to London.’

Rae grinned. ‘Does that mean you’ve dispensed with his services?’

‘Not at all,’ said Craig, guardedly. ‘He felt that there were lines of inquiry he had to pursue in London. I daresay that he’ll be back before long.’

‘Did he tell you what these new lines of inquiry were?’

‘I was not made privy to that information.’

‘I’m intrigued to know what it is.’

‘Then you’ll have to be patient.’

‘Surely he gave you some sort of hint?’

‘I’ve told you all I can,’ said Craig, flatly.

He was not taken in by Rae’s pretence that he knew nothing of Colbeck’s whereabouts. The inspector had come to gloat. He was already aware that Colbeck and Leeming had left Glasgow. Enquiries at the Strathallan had also elicited the fact that Colbeck’s wife and father-in-law had spent the night there. Craig had been put in the awkward position of explaining the absence of the man ostensibly leading the investigation into the train crash. It was an odd situation and Rae was exploiting it. Moving to the desk, the inspector stared at the map.

‘Is the Caledonian looking to extend its empire?’ he taunted.

‘Further expansion is always under review,’ said Craig, folding the map away. ‘But extending a line is an expensive business. Local issues come into play and we always meet with opposition – not least from our competitors, of course. On which subject,’ he went on, trying to distract his visitor, ‘what have you learnt of the NBR?’

‘I’ve learnt that the general manager has privately admitted that someone in his employ
might
have been party to the accident on your line. The search for suspects is both urgent and comprehensive.’

‘And what will Alistair Weir do if he finds that one of his men was involved?’

‘I hope that he’ll inform the police.’

‘He’s more likely to promote the fellow and reward him with money.’

‘Mr Weir has more sense than that,’ said Rae. ‘He might rejoice in your disarray but he doesn’t want the NBR linked with it in any way. Besides, he knows that my detectives are putting his company under the microscope. He’s keen to find the culprit before we do.’

‘What if you are looking in the wrong place?’

‘I suggest that you put that question to Inspector Colbeck.’

‘Why should I do that?’

‘On one thing, I fancy, we should all agree. The roots of this crime lie in Scotland. It was conceived and committed north of the border. That being irrefutable,’ he added, ‘why on earth are Colbeck and his sergeant grubbing around in London?’

‘I’ve already told you.’

‘I think you’ve been misled, Mr Craig.’

‘That’s arrant nonsense,’ retorted the other.

‘Your much-vaunted Railway Detective has no new line of inquiry. He simply wants to spend time with his wife. Look at the facts. The man is recently married and we both know what a heady experience that can be. He’s still under the spell of his beautiful new wife,’ said Rae with a knowing wink. ‘She came to Glasgow to fetch him and Colbeck was unable to resist her siren call. One crook of her finger and he deserts you before his work is done.’ His smile became a smirk. ‘He’s left you in the lurch, Mr Craig. Colbeck has run off home to enjoy the delights of the marital couch.’

Madeleine was thrilled. ‘You’re going to the
palace
, Robert?’

‘Mr Renwick and I must be there at ten in the morning.’

‘That’s such a feather in your cap.’

‘I’m not going to receive an honour of any kind,’ Colbeck told her. ‘I’ll simply be there in my capacity as a detective.’

‘I should be there as well,’ said Andrews. ‘I’ve earned the right.’

‘I agree, Mr Andrews. We’re indebted to your acuity. It will be brought to the attention of Prince Albert, I can assure you. But this invitation does not, alas, include you.’

‘More’s the pity!’

‘Let Robert finish what he came to tell us, Father,’ said Madeleine.

When Colbeck slipped home in a cab that afternoon, he found that his father-in-law was there. It enabled him to tell both Andrews and Madeleine what had so far transpired. Since they’d given the investigation a significant change of direction, Colbeck felt that it was only fair that they should be kept abreast of what was going on.

‘What did Mr Renwick have to say?’ asked Andrews.

‘The first thing he told me was how much he enjoyed meeting you both at the dinner. I called at his house,’ said Colbeck, ‘so I was able to see Madeleine’s painting hanging on the wall. I was incredibly proud.’

‘I was so pleased that he had the urge to buy it,’ said Madeleine.

‘Mr Renwick loves railways. He has other paintings and prints on display that feature some element of the world in which he works.’

‘But none as good as Maddy’s,’ said Andrews, loyally.

Colbeck kissed her forehead. ‘I’d endorse that.’

After recounting details of the time spent at Renwick’s house, he talked about his subsequent visit to the man’s office. Madeleine was enthralled to hear of the meticulous preparations for a journey by any royal train. Safety was paramount and railway companies went to extraordinary lengths to ensure it. Colbeck’s account sparked off a memory for his father-in-law.

‘I remember the first time that Her Majesty took the train,’ he said. ‘It was in 1842 and she made the fatal mistake of choosing the Great Western Railway.’

‘You can hardly blame her for that, Mr Andrews,’ said Colbeck. ‘The LNWR was not in existence at the time.’

‘Brunel and Daniel Gooch both travelled on the footplate to reassure her.’

‘So did Her Majesty’s coachman, it seems. He didn’t believe that the train would be safe enough so he insisted on joining the others on the engine itself. I’m told that his scarlet coat got so filthy that he never pushed himself forward again.’