by Kerry Tombs
‘Strange how he remembered about the disagreements at the almshouses just as we were leaving, and yet he was quite adamant when we arrived that Pitzer had not an enemy in the world.’
‘Just slipped his mind, I suppose.’
‘Then at the end of our visit, he thought that he had said too much. Anyway, I think you and I should make a visit to these almshouses and have a few words with this Armitage fellow. Where are they again?’
‘At Colwall, sir, that’s about four miles away, over the other side of the hills.’
‘Good. Unfortunately, I have to return to the Tudor for my next treatment now so meet me there at three this afternoon. I’ll have someone arrange a cab for us to travel over to Colwall. Until then, Crabb, I wish you adieu.’
‘And you, sir. I hope you enjoy your bath,’ shouted Crabb, as he walked away down the road.
* * *
After suffering the rigours of yet another warm bath and being bound tightly like an Egyptian mummy for what had appeared to be an eternity, Ravenscroft was pleased to be closing the door of the Tudor behind him, and to be climbing into the cab that was to take Crabb and himself to the nearby village of Colwall.
‘And how goes the water treatment with you this afternoon, sir?’ asked Crabb, in a jovial tone.
‘Exceedingly badly, thank you, Crabb. I cannot understand what on earth possessed me to make the decision to subject myself to such strange tortures,’ replied Ravenscroft.
‘I’m sure it must be doing you a power of good, sir. You will no doubt feel the benefits when you return to London.’
‘I should doubt that very much. But enough of the water cure and the Tudor. It is a fine afternoon, and I am looking forward to our excursion to Colwall. Drive on!’
Ravenscroft sat back in the cab and prepared to enjoy the scenery. During the next twenty minutes or so, their journey took them first towards the direction of Pitzer’s house, before a sharp turn to their right took them up a long steep road almost to the top of the hill, enabling the two men to enjoy the wide, ranging views over the Worcestershire countryside. Reaching the summit, the cab navigated carefully over the narrow road before pausing for a moment or so, enabling Ravenscroft and his companion to marvel at the rugged landscape that opened up before them.
‘This is known as the Wyche, sir, so called after the old salt route that ran over the hills between the counties of Worcester and Hereford. Colwall is just down there,’ informed Crabb, pointing to the winding route that lay before them.
‘I see now why this area attracts so many visitors.’ replied Ravenscroft, his face turned towards the welcoming rays of the afternoon sun.
The cab man flicked his whip and the cab continued its journey, turning first left, then right, then left again, and so on, down the steep meandering road, until the way ahead finally became straight and stretching into the distance. As they entered the village of Colwall they passed between two rows of cottages, each with their own neat little gardens, until the cab halted on the edge of what Ravenscroft supposed to be the village green.
The two men alighted from the cab, and Crabb gave instructions to the driver that he was to wait for their return. There in front of them lay a line of black and white thatched cottages.
‘These are Old Lechmere’s Almshouses,’ said Crabb, nodding at the buildings.
Outside the nearest cottage, two old men sat talking together and smoking long clay pipes.
‘Good day, my man,’ said Crabb, addressing the first man. ‘We have come to speak with Mr Armitage. Do you know where he is?’
‘No good asking him. He can’t speak. Lost his tongue in an argument with his wife,’ said the second man indicating his companion.
‘Can you tell me where Mr Armitage is, then?’ asked Crabb.
‘No good asking me. I can’t ’ear yer. Lost me ’earing on account of my wife shouting so much!’ answered the first old man, laughing.
‘Come on Crabb, we will perhaps do better looking for him ourselves,’ interjected Ravenscroft, realising that any further attempts of conversation would be futile.
‘I think you’re right, sir. Thank you, gentlemen,’ said Crabb.
The two policemen moved on.
‘What did they want then?’ asked a voice behind them.
‘Wanted to know where young Armitage was,’ replied the second old man. ‘Told him we can’t help him on account of our wives.’
The two men chuckled.
‘Take no notice of them, sir. Their brains are addled,’ said Crabb, shaking his head.
They continued walking past more cottages until they reached a slightly larger building, which was separated from the rest of the row.
‘I fancy this might be where the warden lives,’ suggested Crabb, walking up a path that ran between rows of red and white rose bushes, towards the front door. Before they could raise the knocker however, they were interrupted by a voice coming from the corner of the garden.
‘May I be of assistance to you two gentlemen?’
The speaker was a tall, thin gentleman, dressed in country attire and a garden apron, and sporting a fine long, red, flowing beard. Ravenscroft guessed his age to be around thirty years or so.
‘Do we have the pleasure of addressing Mr Armitage?’ enquired Ravenscroft.
‘You do,’ replied the other.
‘My name is Inspector Ravenscroft. This is Constable Crabb. We are investigating the death of Mr Jabez Pitzer of Malvern Wells.’
‘Pitzer dead, you say? I was not aware that he had died,’ replied Armitage, placing his gardening bucket on the ground before him, before wiping his dirty hands on his apron.
‘He died yesterday evening, sir,’ said Crabb, taking out his pocketbook from his tunic.
‘What terrible news. How did he die?’
‘We have reason to believe that he was poisoned,’ said Ravenscroft.
Armitage turned away. ‘I don’t see what this has to do with me.’
‘We are trying to build up a picture of Mr Pitzer’s business concerns, and we think you could be of assistance. I understand that he was one of the trustees of the almshouses?’
‘As indeed were a number of other gentlemen. The trust deed states that there shall always be ten trustees of the almshouse. They were founded in the sixteenth century, by a local benefactor, Sir Nicholas Lechmere.’
‘How long have you been warden here?’
‘Three years.’
‘We understand that you and Mr Pitzer had a falling out over a few matters concerning the running of the almshouses,’ said Ravenscroft, closely observing the young man’s expression.
‘Ah, I see you think I killed Pitzer because we had a “falling out”, as you so eloquently put it, Sergeant,’ laughed Armitage, picking up his bucket and moving off towards his doorway.
‘Inspector,’ corrected Ravenscroft.
‘Inspector? Well, then, this must indeed be a serious matter, if the Malvern Constabulary has secured the services of an inspector to investigate Pitzer’s death.’
‘This is not a matter to be taken lightly, sir,’ said Crabb.
‘I am sure not. There was no offence intended.’
‘And none taken, Mr Armitage,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘You would oblige us, though, by informing us as to the nature of these differences of opinion, if you would be so kind.’
‘Oh dear, Inspector, I’m sure that if I told you all about our little matters of difference of opinion, I would be in danger of detaining you here until the sun sets over that field.’
‘We have plenty of time at our disposal.’ Ravenscroft was becoming irritated by the warden’s casual manner.
‘Well, I’m afraid I haven’t. Good day to you two gentlemen.’
Armitage went to enter his cottage but Crabb smartly moved to one side of the path, blocking his way.
‘Mr Armitage, you will oblige us, sir, by answering our questions,’ said Ravenscroft, using his best voice of authority. Armitage gave him an unwelcome stare, and
sighed.
‘When I came here three years ago, I could see that the almshouses were in a poor state of disrepair. The buildings had been sadly neglected for many years and the previous incumbent had spent the majority of his time in Tewkesbury, instead of supervising the health and education of the old people. I merely suggested, upon a number of occasions, that the trustees spend more of the money that has been invested from old Lechmere’s bequest, on the improvement of the houses for the benefit of the residents.’
‘And the trustees refused?’ suggested Crabb, looking up from his notebook.
‘Let us say that they were not forthcoming. I know that some of them regard my ideas as being somewhat too liberal. Malvern is a very conservative town. It does not welcome change, Inspector.’
‘What radical ideas were those, Mr Armitage?’ asked Ravenscroft, anxious to know more of the rift between Armitage and his employers.
‘I felt that we should be adopting a more outgoing approach; that we should extend our mission, for want of a better word, out towards the less fortunate members of the village. I wanted to start classes for not only the residents but also any of the poorer villagers who would benefit from them. I am a great believer in education for the working classes, Inspector.’
‘It all sounds a noble idea to me, Mr Armitage. I cannot see why the trustees would object.’
‘Ah well, Inspector that is where you are wrong. Pitzer and several of the trustees thought that my ideas would prove too radical for the people of Colwall, who might be tempted to stray from the straight and narrow. In other words, I was regarded as a corrupting influence. Some of the trustees tried to remove me and replace me with another, one who would be more in tune with their conservative thinking.’
There was no doubting the bitterness of tone in Armitage’s voice.
‘The Reverend Touchmore spoke of financial irregularities in the running of the almshouses,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Touchmore is a silly old man who ought to keep his idle thoughts to himself.’
‘You have charge of the finances of the almshouses?’
‘I have access to some finance. As the warden, I am expected to attend to bills that may arise from time to time, from the food, clothing and daily expenditure of the inmates.’
‘For which you keep accounts, sir?’ asked Crabb.
‘For which I keep detailed accounts. Look, I really don’t see the relevance of all this,’ replied Armitage, throwing up his arms in the air.
‘It is for us to decide what is relevant, Mr Armitage, and what is not. So, Mr Pitzer and the reverend Touchmore and some of the other trustees thought that the accounts were not in order?’
‘I have said, Inspector, that some of the trustees wanted to remove me because of my reforming views. If they could have found some financial irregularities in the accounts, well, that would have provided them with the excuse they were looking for to dismiss me.’
‘And did they find any such irregularities?’
‘Certainly not!’
‘Then you would not object if we studied the accounts?’
There was silence for a moment or so, before Armitage spoke. ‘I do not have the accounts here.’
‘Where are they then, sir?’ asked Crabb.
‘The accounts are at my sister’s house. She resides in Ledbury.’
‘That is a rather strange state of affairs. Surely it would be more convenient to keep the account books here at the almshouses?’ asked Ravenscroft
‘I visit my sister usually once a week and it is an easy matter for me to bring the books up to date. I do not like leaving the account books here.’
‘And why is that, sir?’
‘There have been one or two burglaries recently at the almshouses. I removed the books and one or two more valuable items to my sister’s house, where I considered they would be safer.’
‘You did not report these burglaries to the police station at Malvern, sir,’ ventured Crabb, writing down something in his notebook.
‘No, I did not consider they were important, although I may have mentioned it to the constable on duty at the Ledbury station. Look, I really must go now.’
‘Very well, Mr Armitage. That will be all for now. I should warn you, though, that we may need to talk with you again, and that we might require access to the accounts of the almshouses.’
‘Of course,’ nodded Armitage, turning away.
‘Good day to you, sir.’
Crabb and Ravenscroft made their way up the garden path, as Armitage opened the door of his cottage and went inside.
‘Good day to you, gentlemen,’ said Crabb, as they passed by the two old men.
‘What’s he say?’ asked one of the other.
‘Says he has to go home, lest his wife tell him off!’
The two men laughed.
‘Well, that Armitage is a tight fellow and no mistake,’ said Crabb, as they made their way back to their waiting cab. ‘All that nonsense he gave us about the almshouses being burgled.’
‘He was certainly reluctant to let us view the accounts. I find it very difficult to accept that the books are lodged with his sister in Ledbury,’ said Ravenscroft, climbing back into the cab. ‘We will certainly need to speak with him again. Our Mr Armitage is holding something back, I’m sure.’
‘Perhaps Pitzer found that Armitage had been cheating the almshouses of money and called him to account, and rather than be discovered Armitage decided to kill Pitzer so that it would all be kept secret?’
‘That is a strong possibility, but your argument has only one flaw. If we accept what Touchmore told us, namely that the other trustees knew or suspected that Armitage had been appropriating some of the funds for himself, then Armitage would have to kill the other trustees as well to safeguard his secret. To remove all the trustees would cause a great deal of suspicion, I think you would agree.’
‘Pitzer might have discovered something that the other trustees did not know about and decided to keep it secret.’
‘True. We must consider all possibilities. Where do you suggest we go next, Constable Crabb?’
‘I thought we should call on Doctor Gladwyn, sir.’
‘Then Doctor Gladwyn it is.’
* * *
Twenty minutes later the men found their cab had returned them to the town of Great Malvern.
‘Gladwyn lives just below Link Top,’ said Crabb, as the cab sped past the Tudor, along Belle Vue Terrace and out of the town. After passing a church on their left and the beginnings of a large expansive common stretching away on their right, their journey took them past a number of attractively designed villas, until eventually lower down the road, their driver swung the cab through a gateway that led up to an house built in the recent Gothic style.
‘This is where the good doctor resides,’ said Crabb stepping down from the cab and instructing their driver to await their return.
Ravenscroft walked up to the front door and pulled the bell under a brass plaque bearing the words: Septimus Gladwyn. Physician.
The door was opened by a maid.
‘Inspector Ravenscroft and Constable Crabb, called to see Doctor Gladwyn, if you please,’ said Crabb.
The girl gave him a disapproving stare, then said, ‘Wait here’ — and disappeared inside the building.
The two men stepped inside and found themselves in a drab, dark hallway. Ravenscroft looked at the faded photographs on the walls and across towards the cluttered hallstand, full of battered hats and ancient walking sticks. A plant, which had clearly seen better days, spread out from a large cracked pot in the corner.
‘Whatever is that smell, sir?’ whispered Crabb
‘I think the maid has been somewhat overzealous in her cleaning of this floor,’ replied Ravenscroft.
‘Smells more like the leftover cabbage from yesterday’s dinner,’ sniffed Crabb.
‘Gentlemen, do come this way,’ said Gladwyn, suddenly in the hallway. ‘I think I can spare you a few minutes, before I co
mmence my rounds.’
The two detectives followed the physician into what Ravenscroft supposed to be Gladwyn’s consulting rooms.
‘Do sit down.’ Gladwyn indicated two chairs situated in front of his desk. ‘How may I help you?’
‘We are investigating the death of Mr Pitzer, Doctor Gladwyn,’ began Ravenscroft, accepting the seat.
‘There is nothing to investigate, Inspector. Pitzer died from natural causes. I am sure the coroner’s inquest will agree with my diagnosis,’ interjected Gladwyn, taking his seat behind the desk.
‘Would it come as a surprise to you, Doctor, if I told you that Mr Pitzer was poisoned?’
‘I would say that suggestion was somewhat fanciful. I examined Pitzer myself.’ Gladwyn removed his spectacles and polished the lens on a large white handkerchief.
‘Nevertheless, we did find traces of poison in the glass from which Mr Pitzer had been drinking.’
‘I see,’ said the doctor, looking down at his desk. ‘This changes everything. We will have to see what the inquest reveals.’
‘May I ask how long you had been Mr Pitzer’s physician?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘For over thirty years. He engaged me when he and his wife first moved to Malvern.’
‘And how was his health during these years?’
‘Really, Inspector, such things are confidential between doctor and patient,’ protested Gladwyn, replacing his spectacles.
‘Surely that no longer applies now that your patient is deceased. This is a murder inquiry, Doctor Gladwyn, and we would appreciate it if you could answer all our questions,’ said Ravenscroft firmly.
The two men stared at one another, before Gladwyn broke the silence.
‘Mr Pitzer had generally enjoyed the best of health over the years. However, he had been working quite hard recently. I thought he could do with a complete rest for a week or two. Unfortunately, he did not take my advice.’
‘I am right in assuming that Mr and Mrs Pitzer had no children?’ asked Ravenscroft, anxious to continue with his questioning now that the doctor was now more forthcoming.
‘That is correct. They were not fortunate in that direction.’
‘Mr Pitzer never had cause to confide with you relating to any matters of a sexual nature?’