by Kerry Tombs
‘I have it, sir. Troutbridge—’ began Crabb.
‘—has a farm in Mathon,’ interrupted Ravenscroft.
‘How did you know that, sir?’
‘Divine inspiration, Crabb! Divine inspiration! Cabbie, take us to Mathon if you please.’
* * *
Their journey now took them along country lanes, lined with overhanging trees, and bordered with wild flowers and long grass. Thirty minutes after they had left Ledbury, they arrived at the small village of Mathon. As the cab drew up outside the village inn, Ravenscroft looked around at the church and the untidy cottages.
‘Here, my man,’ shouted Crabb to a figure who was sitting on a bench outside the inn drinking ale. ‘We are looking for Troutbridge’s farm.’
The man wandered over and gave them a vacant stare.
‘Troutbridge’s Farm,’ repeated Crabb, in a louder voice.
‘Oh, that will be Denis Troutbridge you want. Go up this road, turn up lane on right, and follow track that goes off to right. Mind, you’ll not be welcome, like,’ answered the man, beginning to walk away.
‘Why not?’ enquired Ravenscroft.
‘Denis, he don’t take too kindly to strangers. I’d have a care if I were ye,’ laughed the man, as he made his way back inside the inn.
They resumed their journey, and soon found themselves making their way up an old rutted track, which eventually ended in a yard full of a collection of dilapidated farm buildings. The two men alighted from the cab.
‘Where first, sir?’ enquired Crabb, looking around him at the half-ruined buildings.
‘Let’s try in that one,’ suggested Ravenscroft, indicating a large barn which lay in the centre of the complex.
Making their way across the muddy farmyard, the two men entered the building, which turned out to be a milking shed.
‘Mr Troutbridge?’ called out Crabb.
‘Who wants him?’ said a gruff voice from somewhere inside the barn.
‘Police. Malvern Police. Can you spare us a minute or two of your time, Mr Troutbridge,’ shouted Crabb.
‘Don’t have much time,’ said the voice emerging from behind one of the cows.
‘I believe you are Mr Denis Troutbridge? My colleague and I are making enquiries regarding the murders of Jabez Pitzer and Mr Sommersby in Malvern, and believe you may be able to assist us with our enquiries,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Never heard of them, don’t mean nothing to me it don’t. I never goes into Malvern,’ said Troutbridge, stepping forwards. Ravenscroft looked at the tall and well-built late middle-aged man. A large scar scuttled into an untidy beard on one side of his face. The farmer banged his pail of milk on the floor, slopping some of its contents over the side and onto Ravenscroft’s boots
‘You know Old Lechmere’s Almshouses at Colwall?’ continued Ravenscroft not put off by the white liquid dribbling over his walking apparel.
‘I might,’ replied the farmer grudgingly.
‘Do you know the warden there, a Mr Armitage, Mr James Armitage?’
‘Never heard of him, don’t know anyone called Armitage.’
‘He appears to know you. He pays you one pound and ten pence every month.’
‘I should be so lucky,’ laughed the farmer picking up his bucket and moving on to milk the next cow.
‘You don’t know Mr Armitage then?’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘You don’t have any dealings with the almshouses, then?’ continued Ravenscroft, determined to persist with his questions.
‘No.’
‘Do you supply the almshouses with food or any other type of goods, for which you receive payment?’
‘No.’
‘You never have cause to go to the almshouses?’
‘No.’
‘And you don’t receive money from Mr Armitage?’
‘No.’
‘What would you say if I told you that someone saw you there last week, talking with Mr Armitage?’ said a frustrated Ravenscroft, deciding to try another line of questioning.
‘I’d say he were a damned liar! I’m getting tired of all these damnable questions. Who did you say you were?’ replied the farmer becoming increasingly surly in his manner.
‘We are both from the Malvern Constabulary. I am Inspector Ravenscroft and my associate here is Constable Crabb.’
‘That’s as may be. I’ve told you I don’t know anything about any almshouses. Now let me get on with my milking.’
‘You have never met with a Mr Pitzer?’
‘No.’
‘What about Mr Sommersby from Malvern College?’
‘No. I’ve just about had enough of these stupid questions,’ said Troutbridge laying down his bucket, walking over to Ravenscroft and thrusting his features close up before his face. ‘If you don’t get off my farm within the next minute, I’ll set the dogs loose on you!’
‘Now then, my fellow, have a care. This is the law you’re talking to,’ interjected Crabb, drawing himself up to his full height.
‘I don’t care a damn whose law it is. If you ain’t off my farm in next minute I won’t be responsible for who gets hurt!’ snapped the farmer, glaring at the constable.
‘If you set your dogs on us, you’ll find yourself up before the bench tomorrow morning and no mistake,’ said Ravenscroft firmly.
‘Maybe you won’t live to tell the tale, if the dogs have you first!’ growled Troutbridge.
‘Don’t you threaten us, my man!’ continued Ravenscroft.
Troutbridge and Ravenscroft stared at one another, each determined to hold their ground and to test the mettle of the other. Finally, Ravenscroft turned away. ‘Come, Crabb. We have done all we can do for now. Mr Troutbridge, you should be warned that we will return, next time with constabulary assistance, and that you may be taken into custody.’
‘On what charge?’ snarled the farmer.
‘Threatening behaviour, wasting police time, keeping savage animals on the premises — that will do for a start,’ said Ravenscroft walking away.
‘If you come back again, I’ll have the dogs ready. I warn you!’ threatened Troutbridge as the two policemen left the barn.
‘What an unpleasant fellow,’ remarked Crabb as they mounted their cab.
‘I quite agree with you, but I have seen his type, many times before and in my experience, they are all bravado and bluster and soon break down when you take them into custody. Our Mr Troutbridge certainly has a great deal to hide. I noticed the way he looked when I mentioned Armitage’s name. He certainly knew him all right. It would seem that our decision to visit here was the right one, but there is little we can do on our own. I am not inclined to have a piece of my leg being removed for some animal’s supper.’
‘We can come back tomorrow, sir, with more of my colleagues if you so wish. A few days in the cells should cool his temper.’
Their driver turned the cab round and they started to drive away from the farm buildings. Suddenly Ravenscroft gripped Crabb’s arm. ‘Don’t look over there at the house!’ he instructed, aware that Troutbridge was standing outside the milking shed, observing their departure.
The cab sped out of the yard and down the trackway.
‘What was all that about, sir?’ asked a bewildered Crabb.
‘If I was not very much mistaken, I would say that someone was watching us from one of the upstairs windows of the house, as we drove away!’
* * *
After stopping for refreshment at one of the inns situated on the western slopes of the hills, the two men returned to Great Malvern and made their way to the recently opened Assembly Rooms where the coroner’s inquest was to be held into the death of Jabez Pitzer.
‘Make a note, Crabb, of all the people who are present at the inquest,’ said Ravenscroft as they entered the building. ‘It will be interesting to see who attends.’
‘I can see Mrs Pitzer with her maid sitting near the front, sir, and Doctor Gladwyn and the Reverend Touchmore. Who the o
ther people are, I don’t know, sir.’
‘It would be useful at the end of the proceedings if you stopped them all on their way out, take their names and addresses and ask for their interest in this affair.’
‘That may prove difficult, sir. Mr Pitzer was well known in the town and a great many people seem to be arriving to attend the inquest,’ said Crabb as the two men took their seats.
The coroner entered and took his place at the large desk, which had been placed at the front of the assembly.
‘We are here today to hold an inquest into the death of Mr Jabez Pitzer of Malvern Wells,’ began the coroner in a formal, dry tone. ‘However, before we begin, I’m sure you would all join me in extending our condolences to his widow, Mrs Pitzer, who is with us today. Madam, we all sympathise with your great loss’ — sounds of affirmation rang from across the room — ‘Mr Pitzer was a highly respected figure, and will be a sorely missed in the community here in Malvern’ — hear, hears from various sections of the room — ‘We will begin today by calling Doctor Gladwyn to the stand, as I understand he was the first to examine the deceased.’
Gladwyn took his place and began to answer the coroner’s questions. Ravenscroft looked around him. The room was certainly full. He estimated an audience approaching a hundred, and wondered why so many people had taken the trouble to attend the inquest — out of respect for the dead man, or was it just a simple curiosity to learn more about the events of the night in question and an opportunity to confirm or deny the many rumours concerning Pitzer’s death that must have been circulating around the town. Many of those attending wore black, no doubt out of respect for the deceased. Some would undoubtedly have been his business associates, his fellow councillors, his friends and neighbours; others would merely have known about the man and would have wanted to learn more about his demise. As Ravenscroft examined the rows of seated figures he looked in vain for Armitage or the veiled lady and wondered whether one of these highly respectable citizens present was in fact the murderer of Jabez Pitzer.
‘Thank you, Doctor Gladwyn. I would now like to hear from Inspector Ravenscourt.’
Ravenscroft made his way over to the witness stand and took the oath.
‘Now, Inspector Ravenscourt—’
‘Ravenscroft, your honour.’
‘Ah, Ravenscroft, yes of course, would you care to give your evidence, sir?’
Ravenscroft coughed and cleared his throat. ‘My name is Samuel Ravenscroft. I hold the rank of police Inspector in the Whitechapel Division of the London Constabulary.’
‘Forgive me,’ interrupted the coroner leaning forwards. ‘If you are an inspector with the, er—’
‘Whitechapel Division,’ helped Ravenscroft.
‘Quite. If you are an inspector with the Whitechapel Division, perhaps you would care to explain why you are investigating this case? I would have thought that London was too far removed from Malvern to warrant such interest, or perhaps Mr Pitzer had business interests in Whitechapel?’
‘I believe not, sir. I met Mr Pitzer a few days ago on the London train. We conversed together, the result of which he kindly invited me to dine with him on the night in question. That was how I came to be present at the murder scene. Since then I have been engaged by the local Malvern constabulary to carry out further investigations into Mr Pitzer’s death.’
‘Very well — I understand. Please proceed with your evidence, if you will,’ said the coroner, leaning back in his chair and looking over his spectacles at Ravenscroft.
‘I arrived at the deceased’s house at seven thirty and was shown into the drawing room where I met Mrs Pitzer, the Reverend Touchmore and Mr Sommersby. We conversed for a few minutes, and then Mrs Pitzer instructed the maid to call for her husband, who was in the study at this time. When the maid returned, she informed us that Mr Pitzer was in fact dead. We all then entered the study. Mr Sommersby was the first to examine the deceased and declared that in his opinion, the deceased had died from natural causes, such as a seizure, or heart failure. When Doctor Gladwyn arrived he also gave cause of death due to a seizure. I had cause to think otherwise, sir.’ Exclamations of surprise came from various sections of the room.
‘Quiet from those attending this inquest!’ interrupted the coroner. ‘Please continue with your evidence, Inspector.’
‘Thank you, your honour. The deceased had been drinking from a glass that had been replaced on the decanter tray. When I examined this glass, I found a residue of a powdery substance which was later confirmed as being poison.’ This prompted more exclamations from the room.
‘Quiet! Quiet!’ said the coroner, banging the table with a small wooden hammer. ‘I will not hesitate to clear this courtroom if we have any more interruptions. Please continue.’
‘I also noticed that the window to the study was open, and when I stepped into the garden, I discovered evidence of a recent footprint on the ground beneath the window. When I later questioned the maid, she stated that she had heard the sound of something like a glass falling onto the floor at around six thirty in the evening. When I examined the carpet, I found that part of it was damp where the glass had fallen. I also discovered that Mr Pitzer had received a letter that afternoon, which had necessitated his being closeted in his study. It is my contention that someone entered the study at six thirty that evening and administered poison to Mr Pitzer’s glass.’
‘Can you tell me, Inspector, whether you have recovered this letter, the one that you have just mentioned?’
‘No, sir. I believe the murderer took the letter away with him.’
‘I see. That is most unfortunate. I understand there have been some developments in this case, since then, Inspector.’
‘Yes, sir. Mr Sommersby of Malvern College has also been killed.’
‘The court has been led to believe that Mr Sommersby met his death from a fallen bookcase?’ asked the coroner, staring at Ravenscroft.
‘We believe that Mr Sommersby was killed before the bookcase fell on him.’ Further gasps echoed from the audience.
‘Quiet! I see, Inspector. Are we to assume therefore that investigations concerning the deaths of these two men are still continuing?’
‘Your assumption is correct, sir.’
‘And can we expect a swift conclusion to these investigations?’
‘We are endeavouring to do all that we can to expedite matters your honour, and are hopeful of an arrest,’ replied Ravenscroft, trying to sound as convincing as possible.
‘The court thanks you for your evidence, Inspector. You may step down. I would now like to call upon the Reverend Touchmore to give evidence.’
Ravenscroft let out a sigh of relief as he resumed his seat. Although he had given evidence many times before in numerous courts of justice during his career, he had never particularly enjoyed the experience, always fearing that he would fall foul to some over-zealous barrister, or be reprimanded for his lack of enterprise by some supercilious judge, and be made to look a laughing stock by the many people who were hanging on his every word.
He looked out of the window of the Assembly Rooms at the trees and flower beds that had been recently planted in the grounds, and his mind began to dwell on the events of the previous three days. He had little realised when he had arrived in Malvern that he would have been called upon to solve not one, but two murders, of its prominent citizens. The more and more he thought about this, the more and more he found himself returning yet again to the old almshouses. Was it Armitage who had killed the two men because they had uncovered his payments to Troutbridge from the accounts? Why was Armitage paying Troutbridge every month, — and where was Armitage now? Was Troutbridge sheltering Armitage? Had the face at the window of Troutbridge’s farm been that of Armitage — or had it been someone else? Perhaps Troutbridge was perfectly innocent and Armitage had merely inserted his name in the accounts while pocketing the money for his own use? The possibilities seemed endless; one question led on to another and the more he thought about it, so the
maze seemed to deepen. Then there was the cottage in Ledbury with its occupier, Lucy Armitage, appearing to know nothing of either her brother’s involvement with Troutbridge or his whereabouts. He had not wished to consider anything against the lady but felt forced to concede that she had not exactly been forthcoming with her answers.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, the court has heard evidence from a number of witnesses concerning the demise of Mr Jabez Pitzer,’ said the coroner announcing his summing up. ‘It is our opinion that Mr Pitzer was murdered by a person or persons unknown, and accordingly we enter such a verdict. The court stands adjourned until the police have completed their enquiries.’
The coroner banged his hammer down sharply on the table before him, gathered his papers together, stood up, and left the room, leaving an excited and animated gathering behind him busily discussing the events of the afternoon.
‘I’ll go by the door and get as many names as I can, sir,’ said Crabb rising from his seat quickly. Ravenscroft remained seated, studying the various groups of people as they began to leave.
‘Mr Ravenscroft. I thank you for all your efforts in this case,’ said Mrs Pitzer addressing him as she attempted to make her way out of the room.
‘Rest assured, ma’am, that Constable Crabb and I are quite determined to bring to justice whoever perpetrated this deed, and that we will not rest until we have done so,’ said Ravenscroft, rising from his seat.
‘I thank you for your encouraging words, Inspector. And now poor Mr Sommersby has been killed as well,’ she said, tears beginning to form in her eyes.
‘It is indeed so. I am sure that whoever killed your husband also killed Mr Sommersby.’
Susan began to lead her mistress away.
‘Good day to you, Mrs Pitzer,’ said Ravenscroft. He began to make his own way out of the hall. He pushed his way through the throng, avoiding the stares of some of their number, seeking only one more person before he should leave.
‘Ah, Reverend, I wonder if I might have a word with you,’ he said catching hold of Touchmore’s arm, once they were out of the Assembly Rooms.
‘Why yes, of course, Inspector.’ The clergyman seemed surprised to be singled out by the policeman.