dismayed. Discovering that Paterson had left on the eve of the crash made his journey to the quarry worthwhile. Evidently, the quarry worker had no intention of coming back. Colbeck would have to look elsewhere.
CHAPTER NINE
Madeleine Colbeck tried to cope with her husband’s absence by throwing herself into her work but it didn’t always preoccupy her. Her thoughts kept drifting uncontrollably to Colbeck and she felt pangs of loneliness. She kept telling herself how lucky she’d been. Since their marriage, he’d always worked on cases that kept him in or near London. Madeleine had been spoilt. She’d been able to see him every day and take an interest in what he was doing. All that had changed. He was now hundreds of miles away, leading an investigation about which she knew almost nothing. She felt excluded, cut adrift from something she’d taken for granted. Even with the servants there, the house felt empty and the marital bed felt even emptier. It was at night that she missed him most but it was something she had to endure as best she could because the Railway Detective’s work would take him all over the country.
Unable to paint without natural light, Madeleine put her brush aside as the evening shadows started to lengthen. She was surprised to hear the doorbell ring. Not expecting a visitor, she wondered who it might be and opened the door to listen. The distinctive sound of her father’s voice came up from the hallway. Madeleine wiped her hands on a damp cloth and went swiftly downstairs. Caleb Andrews was standing there with his cap in his hand.
‘Father,’ she said, brow wrinkled in curiosity, ‘what are
you
doing here?’
‘I was hoping for a better welcome than that, Maddy,’ he replied with mock irritation. ‘Have I caught you at a bad moment?’
‘Not at all – you’ve come in time to dine with me.’
‘But that’s not why I’m here.’
She smiled fondly. ‘It is now.’
She nodded to the maid who went off to pass on the information to the cook. Madeleine took her father into the drawing room. When she sat down, he remained on his feet. She could tell that he was excited.
‘Has something happened?’ she asked.
‘No, no,’ he replied, airily. ‘Nothing ever happens in my life.’
‘You can’t fool me, Father.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘You came here with a purpose. I recognise that look in your eye.’
‘There’s no deceiving you, Maddy, is there?’ he said with a cackle. ‘You can read your old father like a book. I could never keep a secret from you.’
‘So what is it that cheered you up so much?’
‘See for yourself.’
Reaching inside his coat, Andrews took out a letter and handed it over to his daughter. Madeleine read it with a mixture of interest and delight. It was from Archibald Renwick, general manager of the London and North Western Railway, the company for which her father had worked throughout his life. In recognition of his long service, Andrews – along with other retired drivers – was invited to a celebratory dinner. Madeleine could understand why her father was so elated. He would be part of an exclusive group. Only one thing puzzled her.
‘The invitation is for this week,’ she said. ‘Why not give you more notice?’
‘Who cares? If it was tomorrow, that would be notice enough for me.’
‘This is a real honour, Father.’
He thrust out his chest. ‘It’s no more than I deserve.’
‘You’ve always admired Mr Renwick.’
‘He’s a man who knows his job,’ said Andrews with approval. ‘He also has an eye for something that’s rather special – and I’m not only talking about me.’
‘Who else?’
‘A talented young artist named Madeleine Colbeck – except that you were Madeleine Andrews at the time when you painted a picture of an engine named “Cornwall”. It was one of the first I drove for the LNWR. I can still tell you the exact diameter of its driving wheel, its boiler
CHAPTER NINE
Madeleine Colbeck tried to cope with her husband’s absence by throwing herself into her work but it didn’t always preoccupy her. Her thoughts kept drifting uncontrollably to Colbeck and she felt pangs of loneliness. She kept telling herself how lucky she’d been. Since their marriage, he’d always worked on cases that kept him in or near London. Madeleine had been spoilt. She’d been able to see him every day and take an interest in what he was doing. All that had changed. He was now hundreds of miles away, leading an investigation about which she knew almost nothing. She felt excluded, cut adrift from something she’d taken for granted. Even with the servants there, the house felt empty and the marital bed felt even emptier. It was at night that she missed him most but it was something she had to endure as best she could because the Railway Detective’s work would take him all over the country.
Unable to paint without natural light, Madeleine put her brush aside as the evening shadows started to lengthen. She was surprised to hear the doorbell ring. Not expecting a visitor, she wondered who it might be and opened the door to listen. The distinctive sound of her father’s voice came up from the hallway. Madeleine wiped her hands on a damp cloth and went swiftly downstairs. Caleb Andrews was standing there with his cap in his hand.
‘Father,’ she said, brow wrinkled in curiosity, ‘what are
you
doing here?’
‘I was hoping for a better welcome than that, Maddy,’ he replied with mock irritation. ‘Have I caught you at a bad moment?’
‘Not at all – you’ve come in time to dine with me.’
‘But that’s not why I’m here.’
She smiled fondly. ‘It is now.’
She nodded to the maid who went off to pass on the information to the cook. Madeleine took her father into the drawing room. When she sat down, he remained on his feet. She could tell that he was excited.
‘Has something happened?’ she asked.
‘No, no,’ he replied, airily. ‘Nothing ever happens in my life.’
‘You can’t fool me, Father.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘You came here with a purpose. I recognise that look in your eye.’
‘There’s no deceiving you, Maddy, is there?’ he said with a cackle. ‘You can read your old father like a book. I could never keep a secret from you.’
‘So what is it that cheered you up so much?’
‘See for yourself.’
Reaching inside his coat, Andrews took out a letter and handed it over to his daughter. Madeleine read it with a mixture of interest and delight. It was from Archibald Renwick, general manager of the London and North Western Railway, the company for which her father had worked throughout his life. In recognition of his long service, Andrews – along with other retired drivers – was invited to a celebratory dinner. Madeleine could understand why her father was so elated. He would be part of an exclusive group. Only one thing puzzled her.
‘The invitation is for this week,’ she said. ‘Why not give you more notice?’
‘Who cares? If it was tomorrow, that would be notice enough for me.’
‘This is a real honour, Father.’
He thrust out his chest. ‘It’s no more than I deserve.’
‘You’ve always admired Mr Renwick.’
‘He’s a man who knows his job,’ said Andrews with approval. ‘He also has an eye for something that’s rather special – and I’m not only talking about me.’
‘Who else?’
‘A talented young artist named Madeleine Colbeck – except that you were Madeleine Andrews at the time when you painted a picture of an engine named “Cornwall”. It was one of the first I drove for the LNWR. I can still tell you the exact diameter of its driving wheel, its boiler
Similar Books
