The Inspector Ravenscroft Mysteries Box Set

by Kerry Tombs

  Touchmore thought for a moment or two, then replied, ‘Yes, I suppose we were. One or two of us may have been a year or two older, or younger, whichever way you look at it, but generally speaking, yes, I believe we were all in our thirties.’

  ‘So you each had an equal chance of surviving?’ asked Crabb.

  ‘That is rather an insensitive way of putting it, Constable,’ reprimanded Touchmore.

  ‘Then you and Doctor Lambert are the only two founders still alive?’ asked Ravenscroft. ‘Whichever one of you outlives the other, will inherit the bank?’

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose we are the only two left, although I cannot say whether Doctor Lambert is still alive or not. I should perhaps say, Inspector, that our foundation was not quite so straightforward as you have suggested,’ said Touchmore leaning forwards in his chair.

  ‘Please explain, sir?’ asked Ravenscroft.

  ‘The tontine stipulated that the legacy, for want of a better word, could also be claimed by any surviving children of the six partners. That may sound a little involved I know, but we wanted to make sure that if any of us had children, and they survived, then they could inherit the bank.’

  ‘Let me see if I have this correct, sir. If all of the six original members are dead, then the legacy can be claimed by any of their surviving children. But surely that would cause immense problems?’ asked Ravenscroft somewhat bewildered.

  ‘We saw the possibilities of that situation arising, so we stated that only the eldest surviving child of each of the original six members could claim, — and not their descendants or siblings — and that it would only go to whichever child who survived above all others. That way the legacy would grow for perhaps seventy or eighty years or more.’

  ‘Thank you, Reverend, it is all becoming clear now,’ said Ravenscroft.

  ‘It’s as cloudy as a Malvern fog to me,’ said Crabb.

  ‘Pitzer died because he had no children to inherit. Sommersby was killed because he had no children — and Gladwyn, also because there were no children to come after him. Whoever killed these three gentlemen must have been more than aware of these facts,’ said Ravenscroft.

  ‘And, alas, in my case, although my son was alive at the foundation, he died of a fever shortly afterwards, as I previously explained to you,’ offered Touchmore, a note of sadness creeping into his voice.

  ‘So after your own death, Reverend, that would leave just Gastrux and Lambert?’ said Ravenscroft.

  ‘I suppose so, Inspector, although Gastrux was a bachelor at the time of his hunting accident.’

  ‘So that just leaves Lambert,’ said Crabb.

  ‘That would seem to be the case,’ replied Touchmore.

  ‘Do you know whether Lambert had any children?’ asked Ravenscroft.

  ‘I believe not. Certainly he was married at the time of the foundation. Yes, come to think of it, when he left for Grange his wife was heavily pregnant. I remember remarking to him at the time that he should take good care of her on the long journey.’

  ‘So Lambert had a child, which means that there is only yourself, and either Lambert or his heir, who are now the surviving members of the tontine,’ said Ravenscroft.

  ‘Oh dear me, I had never thought of it, like that. Money is such an unsettling thing.’

  ‘Reverend, you have been more than helpful to us in our investigations. I must warn you however that you could be in grave danger. Whoever killed Pitzer, Sommersby and Gladwyn, could also seek to kill you. We must take precautions. I will send a uniformed officer round shortly to accompany you at all times. Until then I would advise you not to be alone,’ said Ravenscroft, adopting an urgent tone.

  ‘Is that really necessary, Inspector?’ asked Touchmore.

  ‘I’m afraid so, sir, but rest assured it will only be a day or so. I am confident, that given the information you have just given us, we may shortly be able to make an arrest. Now, sir, I fancy that we have taken up too much of your time. Is there somewhere that you can go now, for the next hour or so, where you will not be alone, until my man can be with you?’

  ‘I am due to take a service in the church in a few minutes,’ said Touchmore.

  ‘Good. We’ll send the constable there. Shall we go together?’

  ‘I need to finish these returns first, Inspector.’

  ‘Nevertheless, sir, we would be a lot happier if you were to accompany us to the church. I cannot take the risk of leaving you here, sir, on your own,’ said Ravenscroft, trying to sound as serious as he could.

  ‘Very well, Inspector,’ Touchmore sighed. ‘I suppose the returns can wait a day longer.’

  The three men made their way out of Touchmore’s office and down the steps, where the cleric bade them farewell. The two policemen watched him cross over to the church.

  ‘I believe now we have the reason for our murders. All three men were killed because they were members of the tontine, and because they had no one to follow on after them. Our killer clearly has his eyes on the vast fortunes of the Malvern and Worcestershire Bank,’ said Ravenscroft.

  ‘The Reverend Touchmore could be our killer. He would have a lot to gain if all the others were dead,’ suggested Crabb.

  ‘There is that possibility, but it is this Lambert that interests me. Touchmore stated that when Doctor Lambert left Malvern to take up a practice in Grange-Over-Sands, his wife was expecting a child. I wonder whether that child survived?’ said Ravenscroft deep in thought. ‘I think, Crabb, it is time that we laid a trap for our killer. Put it about the town that I am on the point of making an arrest, and that our killer has connections with the bank. Meanwhile I intend visiting many parts of the town making myself conspicuous with Pitzer’s stick.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’ll see to that straight away, and I’ll arrange for that constable to be sent along to keep an eye Touchmore,’ replied Crabb.

  ‘Good. I think we shall have our killer by tomorrow evening.’

  ‘How can you be so certain of that, sir?’ asked Crabb, somewhat taken aback by this new certainty in his superior’s manner.

  ‘Because I know that Lambert’s child is in Malvern — and that he has been here for some years now!’

  CHAPTER TEN

  After visiting the Telegraph Station and despatching a number of messages, Ravenscroft walked around the town, before returning yet again to the Malvern Library and Reading Rooms where he was greeted by the urbane Clifford.

  ‘Twice in one day, Inspector,’ remarked the librarian.

  ‘I am in need of some of your excellent coffee, Mr Clifford,’ said Ravenscroft.

  ‘Of course, sir, if you would care to take a seat.’

  Ravenscroft walked into the main room and busied himself examining a large map of the hills, which was hanging on one of the walls. With his finger, he traced the route that led from St Ann’s Well, upwards higher onto the hills, making a mental remembrance of the many variations such a journey entailed. He wondered whether the librarian had discovered the whereabouts of the missing document, but somehow he doubted it. It was evident that whoever had murdered Pitzer, Sommersby and Gladwyn, had also managed to remove the foundation document, in order to cover his tracks. It was a pity that Clifford could not remember who might have taken the missing papers.

  A few minutes later the librarian returned with the coffee. ‘I see you have been studying the plan of the hills, Mr Ravenscroft.’

  ‘There seem quite a number of paths on the hills.’

  ‘That is so. The town has been fortunate, over the years, in having a number of benefactors who have created a number of new pathways along the sides of the hills.’

  ‘I imagine there would be splendid views from the top of the highest hill.’

  ‘There are indeed, exceedingly fine views. I have been fortunate, since my arrival here, to have climbed up to the summit on a number of occasions. You should do the same before you leave Mr Ravenscroft. You will not be disappointed.’

  ‘I am sure I would not be.’

  �
��I have made a further search of the storage room, but unfortunately I have not been able to locate the document. I can only apologise for such carelessness. I can only conclude that the document for which you were looking was removed during the time of my predecessor.’

  ‘That is no longer a problem, Mr Clifford. I have spoken with the Reverend Touchmore who was one of the founders of the bank, and he was able to provide me with full details of the foundation in regard to the six partners,’ said Ravenscroft, sipping his coffee.

  ‘Most fortunate,’ replied Clifford, giving a half smile.

  ‘Yes, I must say that our investigations are going remarkably well. I am awaiting replies to several telegrams that I have just despatched, after which I am confident we will be able to make an arrest.’

  ‘That is good news, Inspector. This has all been a terrible business for the town.’

  ‘No one, Mr Clifford, can escape the law for ever,’ remarked Ravenscroft.

  ‘Indeed not. I wish you success with your endeavour.’

  After finishing his coffee, Ravenscroft made his way back to the Tudor, where he was met by an anxious Stebbins in the entrance hall.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Mr Ravenscroft. May I remind you that it will shortly be time for yer bath, sir.’

  ‘I have no time, nor any need, of your bath today, Stebbins. In fact I do believe that I shall never have need of your bath ever again,’ said Ravenscroft cheerfully.

  ‘Does that mean you will soon be leaving us, Mr Ravenscroft?’ came a voice from out of the inner office.

  ‘It does indeed, Doctor Mountcourt.’

  ‘I hear in the town that you intend shortly to make an arrest?’ said Mountcourt, emerging from the office, carrying a large folder of medical notes.

  ‘I do indeed, sir. I am just awaiting the replies to several of my telegraph enquiries,’ replied Ravenscroft.

  ‘I cannot recommend that you should leave us so soon, Mr Ravenscroft. You have not yet undergone the rest of your treatment,’ said Mountcourt in his usual efficient dry manner.

  ‘Duty calls on me in London, sir, once this case is concluded. I can assure you that your treatment has led to a great improvement in my condition, and that one day I will undoubtedly return to undergo further attention,’ lied Ravenscroft, who had no intention of ever doing such a thing in the future, if it could be avoided.

  ‘As you wish, sir, obviously we cannot compel our patients to remain with us to see out their courses of treatment. I will have your bill drawn up tomorrow,’ said Mountcourt disappearing from view. Ravenscourt knew that he had lied unconvincingly, and that Mountcourt had known that he had no intention of ever returning to the Tudor to undergo the terrors of the Water Cure.

  ‘Stebbins. I cannot quite face the rigours of the Tudor lunch today. Do you think you could find me something more appealing?’ whispered Ravenscroft, lest Mountcourt should still be within hearing distance.

  ‘Say no more, sir. I’ll see what I can find in the kitchens. I believe there was a nice leg of mutton left over from last night’s supper. I’ll bring it to yer room, sir.’

  ‘Good man, Stebbins. Here’s a brand new sixpence for you.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ grinned the youth, accepting the coin, before whistling his way down to the kitchens.

  Ravenscroft made his way back to his room and lay down on his bed until a knock at the door indicated that Stebbins had returned with his food.

  After lunch Ravenscroft made his way down to the Priory churchyard. The grounds were empty of people, and he reclaimed the seat by the grave where he had spoken with the veiled lady. As he looked up at the exterior of the Malvern and Worcestershire Bank, his thoughts turned again to Whitechapel and he saw once more the black cloak running ahead of him down the narrow alleyway. Shortly he would be returning to that world. Such a lot had happened since his arrival in Malvern, and when he had first set foot in the town he could not have dreamt that such a tranquil and refined place would have involved him in the hunt for the murderer of three of its most prominent inhabitants. And it had all been caused by the foundation of the bank thirty years previous, and the desire of one person to stop at nothing until he or she had achieved complete control of the tontine.

  The two worlds of Malvern and Whitechapel seemed so far apart that they appeared at first to have little in common, but the more he considered the matter the more he became aware of the similarities between the two places. It was money that lay beneath the surface. In Whitechapel it had been the lack of money that had caused many of its inhabitants to turn to crime: to steal, to sell their bodies, and even occasionally to kill, in order to acquire a few coins so that they might live. Whereas in Malvern, money ruled the town through its prosperous business men, with dark deeds done in closed rooms and near lonely hill tops in the quest for its acquisition.

  ‘I find you alone with your thoughts, Mr Ravenscroft.’

  She had slipped so quietly into the seat beside him, so much so, that he had not until then been aware of her presence in the church yard. He was surprised to discover that her face was not covered by her usual veil.

  ‘I should leave,’ he said, without thinking. ‘You wish to be alone with your husband and son.’

  ‘I knew that you would be here,’ she replied placing her hand on his arm and indicating that he should stay. ‘I believe that you will shortly be leaving the town Mr Ravenscroft.’

  ‘That is correct, my dear lady.’

  ‘So you have caught your murderer?’

  ‘I hope to be making an arrest shortly.’

  They sat in silence for some moments, looking out across the churchyard.

  ‘It is so calm here, so peaceful. It will be almost a shame to leave it,’ she said presently.

  ‘You are leaving the town?’ asked Ravenscroft.

  ‘There comes a time when one must move on. There is unfinished business that must be resolved,’ she said, looking sadly at the gravestone.

  ‘Business that concerns your late husband and son?’ asked Ravenscroft, before correcting himself. ‘I’m sorry, I should not intrude on your personal family affairs.’

  ‘Your veil of politeness seeks only to mask your inquisitive nature, Mr Ravenscroft,’ she replied, allowing herself a brief smile.

  ‘I suppose that is what comes of being a policeman.’

  ‘And as such you must always be looking out for that which is corrupt in people?’

  ‘Not at all, there are many good people out there. I also believe that there is some goodness in all of us,’ said Ravenscroft.

  ‘I do not think so, Inspector. There are some evil people who seek to condemn others to a hell which was not of their own making,’ she replied, a touch of bitterness creeping into her voice.

  ‘You have suffered such torments because of the deaths of your husband and son?’ enquired Ravenscroft.

  ‘I see your curiosity will not be satisfied. Very well then Mr Ravenscroft, you shall hear my story. I married my husband, here in Malvern, some six years ago. At first we were gloriously happy and content with one another, and I believed that life could be no better than that. Then my husband started to visit London for two or three days each month, always on business he said. At first I was content to accept the necessity of his absences from home, but after a year I came to resent the time we were apart from one another. Then I began to notice small changes in his behaviour. He became irritable and bad tempered; he developed a bad cough and would often pay visits to our doctors. I knew that something was amiss and encouraged him to tell me the cause of his ill humour and his sickness, but always he resisted. We drew apart and I began to fear for my marriage. My husband continued to visit London each month, and I noticed he was often ill upon his return. Then I found myself with child and hoped that the birth of our son would bring us closer together, that we could somehow repair the damage of our broken marriage, but in this I was mistaken. Even when my darling Mark was born three years ago, my husband made no attempt to take an interest in
him. It was as though he was hiding some terrible secret, which he could not impart to me. In the year that followed my husband became seriously ill. I felt powerless to arrest his decline. I knew shortly that he would die. Then one night, two weeks before he died, he confessed everything. On his visits to London he had frequented the dens and alleyways of Whitechapel, where he had satisfied his manly urges with the women who plied their trade there. So strong had their allure been that he had returned there time and time again. It had become like a drug to him. The women had entrapped him. Then he had caught some dreadful disease from one of them. At first he had sought to hide it from me, and this had explained his difficult moods and his increasing coldness towards me. He had tried to break free from his temptation, Mr Ravenscroft, but he had found that he could not. He had hoped that by having a child he might be redeemed, but of course he was not. Shortly after he had told me all this my husband died, leaving my son and me alone in this world. At first I accepted his death and blamed his folly and his lust for his own downfall — but then I learnt a harsher truth. My husband had already contracted the fatal illness before the conception of our child!’

  She paused to turn away, leaving Ravenscroft feeling disturbed and uneasy, not knowing whether to issue words of comfort or condemnation.

  ‘Shortly after the death of my husband, my child fell grievously ill and I knew then that he had inherited the illness that my husband had contracted in London. During the next few months I watched my boy, my darling sweet boy, die slowly and in agony — and I could do nothing to save him, nothing to relieve his pain and suffering. To watch a son slowly slip away from you, like that, is a terrible thing. So now you know my story, Mr Ravenscroft — and there they lie, side by side, my weak, foolish husband who had fallen under the spell of those terrible evil women and who had been unable to resist them, and my poor innocent child who died as a result of that evil.’

  Ravenscroft had become aware of the increasing bitterness in her voice, and felt helpless in her presence, saying only, ‘I am sorry’ and knowing that it would not be enough. Suddenly she turned on him, a new anger replacing the agony in her voice.