chesterfield. After I had expressed my sorrow over her loss and she had inclined her head in acceptance, I moved on to the
business that had been occupying my thoughts.
‘I need to ask you a few questions about Richard’s accident,’ I explained to her, ‘only if, that is, you feel up to answering them.’
‘Of course,’ she said, folding her hands on her lap. ‘Please continue.’
‘When did you last see your husband?’
‘The evening before . . . before he was discovered.’
‘He was away from the house all night?’
She nodded.
‘But surely you must have noticed he was missing?’ I realized I was perhaps on the verge of being offensive, or even well beyond the verge, but the matter puzzled me, and when things
puzzle me I worry away at them until they yield a solution. I could no more help myself than a tiger can change its stripes.
‘I took a sleeping draught,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid I wouldn’t have woken up if you’d set me down in the weaving shed.’
Given that the weaving shed contained twelve hundred power looms, all thrumming and clattering at once, I suspected Caroline of hyperbole, but she got her point across.
‘Believe me,’ she went on, ‘I have been tormenting myself ever since . . . If I hadn’t taken the sleeping draught. If I had noticed he hadn’t come
home. If I had tried to find him . . .’
‘It wouldn’t have helped, Caroline,’ I said. ‘His death must have been very swift. There was nothing you could have done. There’s no use torturing
yourself.’
‘You’re very kind, but even so . . .’
‘When did you notice that Richard hadn’t come home?’
‘Not until George Walker from the office came to tell me.’
I paused before going on, uncertain how to soften my line of enquiry. ‘Caroline, believe me, I don’t mean to pry unnecessarily or to cause you any distress, but do you have any idea
where Richard went that night?’
She seemed puzzled at my question. ‘Went? Why, he went to the Travellers’ Rest, of course, out on the Otley Road.’
It was my turn to be surprised. I thought I had known Richard Ellerby, but I didn’t know he was a frequenter of public houses; the subject had simply never come up between us. ‘The
Travellers’ Rest? Did he go there often?’
‘Not often , no, but he enjoyed the atmosphere of a good tavern on occasion. According to Richard, the Travellers’ Rest was a respectable establishment. I had no reason not to
believe him.’
‘Of course not.’ I knew of the place, and had certainly heard nothing to blacken its character.
‘You seem puzzled, Dr Oulton.’
‘Only because your husband never mentioned it to me.’
Caroline summoned up a brief smile. ‘Richard comes from humble origins, as I’m sure you know. He has worked very hard, both in Bradford and here at Saltaire, to achieve the elevated
position he has attained. He is a great believer in Mr Samuel Smiles and his doctrine of self-help. Despite his personal success and advancement, though, he is not a snob. He has never lost touch
with his origins. Richard enjoys the company of his fellow working men in the cheery atmosphere of a good tavern. That is all.’
I nodded. There was nothing unusual in that. I myself ventured to the Shoulder of Mutton, up on the Bingley Road, on occasion. After all, the village was not intended as a prison. It was
beginning to dawn on me, though, that Richard probably assumed I was above such things as public houses because I was a member of the professional classes, or that I disapproved of them on health
grounds because I was a doctor. I felt a pang of regret that we had never been able to get together over a pipe and a pint of ale. Now that he was dead, we never would.
‘Did he ever overindulge?’ I went on. ‘I ask only because I’m searching for a reason for what happened. If Richard had, perhaps, had too much to drink that night and
missed his footing . . .?’
Caroline pursed her lips and frowned,
business that had been occupying my thoughts.
‘I need to ask you a few questions about Richard’s accident,’ I explained to her, ‘only if, that is, you feel up to answering them.’
‘Of course,’ she said, folding her hands on her lap. ‘Please continue.’
‘When did you last see your husband?’
‘The evening before . . . before he was discovered.’
‘He was away from the house all night?’
She nodded.
‘But surely you must have noticed he was missing?’ I realized I was perhaps on the verge of being offensive, or even well beyond the verge, but the matter puzzled me, and when things
puzzle me I worry away at them until they yield a solution. I could no more help myself than a tiger can change its stripes.
‘I took a sleeping draught,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid I wouldn’t have woken up if you’d set me down in the weaving shed.’
Given that the weaving shed contained twelve hundred power looms, all thrumming and clattering at once, I suspected Caroline of hyperbole, but she got her point across.
‘Believe me,’ she went on, ‘I have been tormenting myself ever since . . . If I hadn’t taken the sleeping draught. If I had noticed he hadn’t come
home. If I had tried to find him . . .’
‘It wouldn’t have helped, Caroline,’ I said. ‘His death must have been very swift. There was nothing you could have done. There’s no use torturing
yourself.’
‘You’re very kind, but even so . . .’
‘When did you notice that Richard hadn’t come home?’
‘Not until George Walker from the office came to tell me.’
I paused before going on, uncertain how to soften my line of enquiry. ‘Caroline, believe me, I don’t mean to pry unnecessarily or to cause you any distress, but do you have any idea
where Richard went that night?’
She seemed puzzled at my question. ‘Went? Why, he went to the Travellers’ Rest, of course, out on the Otley Road.’
It was my turn to be surprised. I thought I had known Richard Ellerby, but I didn’t know he was a frequenter of public houses; the subject had simply never come up between us. ‘The
Travellers’ Rest? Did he go there often?’
‘Not often , no, but he enjoyed the atmosphere of a good tavern on occasion. According to Richard, the Travellers’ Rest was a respectable establishment. I had no reason not to
believe him.’
‘Of course not.’ I knew of the place, and had certainly heard nothing to blacken its character.
‘You seem puzzled, Dr Oulton.’
‘Only because your husband never mentioned it to me.’
Caroline summoned up a brief smile. ‘Richard comes from humble origins, as I’m sure you know. He has worked very hard, both in Bradford and here at Saltaire, to achieve the elevated
position he has attained. He is a great believer in Mr Samuel Smiles and his doctrine of self-help. Despite his personal success and advancement, though, he is not a snob. He has never lost touch
with his origins. Richard enjoys the company of his fellow working men in the cheery atmosphere of a good tavern. That is all.’
I nodded. There was nothing unusual in that. I myself ventured to the Shoulder of Mutton, up on the Bingley Road, on occasion. After all, the village was not intended as a prison. It was
beginning to dawn on me, though, that Richard probably assumed I was above such things as public houses because I was a member of the professional classes, or that I disapproved of them on health
grounds because I was a doctor. I felt a pang of regret that we had never been able to get together over a pipe and a pint of ale. Now that he was dead, we never would.
‘Did he ever overindulge?’ I went on. ‘I ask only because I’m searching for a reason for what happened. If Richard had, perhaps, had too much to drink that night and
missed his footing . . .?’
Caroline pursed her lips and frowned,
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