by Kerry Tombs
‘Sorry! That is all you can say, after all those whores have done to my family. I tell you, Mr Ravenscroft, that I will not rest until I have tracked them all down, every one of those evil women, and made them pay for the pain and suffering they have inflicted on my son!’
‘My dear Mrs Kelly, I must urge restraint. I appreciate the way you feel now, but you cannot take the law into your own hands. I know that you have suffered this terrible loss, but whatever you do now will not bring your son back to life.’
‘So you would have me forget?’
‘No, my dear lady, you must never forget. I would ask only restraint, and to allow the passage of time to heal the pain,’ he urged.
‘We have spoken enough. I have said too much,’ she announced, suddenly standing up. ‘I wish you well in the apprehension of your killer.’
‘Please. I . . . er . . . please, we should talk some more,’ said Ravenscroft, taken aback by the abrupt termination of their conversation.
‘The time for talking is past, Mr Ravenscroft. Good day to you,’ she said beginning to walk away.
‘But — will we ever meet again, Mrs Kelly?’
‘I think so, Mr Ravenscroft, I believe so.’
‘Then good day to you, Mrs Kelly,’ called out Ravenscroft, as he watched the lone figure walk out of the churchyard. He felt drained and moved by the words he had just heard, and cursed the feeble responses he had uttered, as her story had unfolded. Since their first encounters on the train journey to Malvern and at the Well House, his desire to know more about the mysterious veiled widow had grown, but now that curiosity had finally been fulfilled, he felt no personal satisfaction at its outcome, but rather ashamed that he had intruded on another’s grief.
He walked over to the grave and looked down once more at the inscription on the stone. Anthony Kelly and his young son were both now at peace but for their mother, the grief and bitterness continued. He wondered whether the anger she so keenly felt would ever be lessened with the passing of the years; and whether she would ever gain the peace and acceptance that had eluded her for so long.
* * *
Later that afternoon he met up with Crabb outside the Assembly Rooms.
‘There you are, sir. I’m afraid we have a slight problem,’ said Crabb, clearly agitated.
‘Speak on Crabb.’
‘Jenkins, the constable we assigned to keep an eye on Touchmore, has just returned to the station to report that the reverend gentleman seems to have given him the slip. Apparently Touchmore was conducting a service in the church and went into the vestry at the end. When he did not reappear after fifteen minutes Jenkins went to investigate and found that there was no one in there. Apparently there was another door that led outside, and so Touchmore must have decided to leave that way without telling anyone. I’ve asked Jenkins to check the usual places where the reverend might be.’
‘Let us trust that no danger befalls him,’ replied Ravenscroft.
‘He could have gone into hiding, sir. If he were our killer, he may have decided to fly the nest before he was discovered, if you see what I mean, sir,’ said Crabb. ‘As the only surviving member of the original six members of your tontine, he stands to inherit a great deal of money.’
‘We do not know that he is the last. There also remains Lambert, or at least the possibility of Lambert’s child.’
‘You said you believed that the child was here in Malvern, sir?’
‘I am convinced of it. The child would now of course be in its late twenties.’
‘Armitage and Clifford would both be of that age,’ suggested Crabb.
‘Indeed. But we must also consider the possibility that he or she may have aged their appearance, in order to mask their true identity,’ replied Ravenscroft.
‘That could suggest Troutbridge, sir.’
‘Or even that old Lambert himself has made a return.’
‘Surely someone would have recognised him?’
‘Not after nearly thirty years, if he had changed his appearance,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Then our killer could be practically anyone. You said a moment ago, sir, that the murderer could have been a woman?’
‘Yes, Lambert’s child could have been a girl.’
‘Miss Armitage? She and her brother could both be children of Lambert?’ suggested Crabb.
‘I think not.’
‘Then there is your veiled lady in black? You mentioned her the other day. Have you met with her again, sir?’
‘I have indeed Crabb, but the information that she gave me was of a personal nature, and appears not to be related to this case.’
‘Well then, we seem no further forward, if you don’t mind me saying so, sir. Half the town could be included in our list of suspects.’
‘No, I believe our killer is already well known to us. You have put it about the town that I am shortly to make an arrest?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Indeed, sir.’
‘I have also let it be known that I am awaiting the replies from certain communications, before we close the case. It will not be long now Crabb before our murderer shows his, or her, final hand. Until then I suggest you go home to that charming wife of yours. I have taken you away from her for far too long.’
* * *
It was later that afternoon when Ravenscroft began to make his final ascent up the winding path to the well house of St Ann.
‘Going out again, is we?’ Stebbins had asked him as he had walked through the entrance hall of the Tudor.
‘Indeed so, Stebbins, it’s a grand afternoon for a walk up to the Beacon.’
‘You wants to be careful up there, Mr Ravenscroft. We had a gent staying with us last year, who broke his leg and had to be carried down in the dark.’
‘I assure you, Stebbins, that I have no intention of breaking a leg or falling over the edge in the darkness.’
As he had walked across the road, he had encountered Clifford. ‘Good afternoon to you, Mr Ravenscroft.’
‘Good afternoon to you, Mr Clifford.’
‘Have you apprehended your murderer yet, Inspector?’ the librarian had asked.
‘Not yet, Mr Clifford, but we are expecting to make an arrest very soon.’
The librarian had given a polite nod, before making his way along the terrace.
Now pausing halfway up the path, Ravenscroft turned slightly to see whether another was following him, but could see no one and continued on his way.
Upon reaching the well house he found the attendant still in residence, but locking up the premises for the night. He exchanged a few words of greeting with the old woman, before seeking out the path at the rear of the property, which he knew would take him further up onto the higher reaches of the hills.
Fifteen minutes later he reached the upper path, which circled a large hill on the northern edge of the range and looked down to where the well house nestled in the cleft of the lower hills. It seemed so small and insignificant in the distance, sheltering from the elements and already in shadow. Ravenscroft wiped his brow, and wondered at his own agility and stamina in climbing so far in such a short time. Below him the tower of the Priory stood tall and firm, dominating the rest of the town. He saw the roads and the fields stretching out into the distance and thought he saw the edges of the town of Worcester at the horizon’s edge to the north, and the meandering river on the plain on its way to Upton and Tewkesbury. The sun was beginning to set over the western side of the hills behind him, leaving vast areas of the near landscape in shadow as he looked down.
But he told himself that he had not climbed the hill, alone, and at this late hour of the afternoon, to marvel at the ancient lands before him. His eyes strained to see if he could see another following in his footsteps, but however hard he looked he could see no one. Ravenscroft sighed. Perhaps this had been a foolish venture after all, and he should retrace his steps back to the well house and the town, before that side of the hill was completely in shadow?
Then he looked along t
he path to his right, to where the great hill seemed to stare down on them all — and there in the distance he saw the small outline of a figure, and he knew that his quest would shortly be rewarded.
He walked for another minute, then paused, and thought he saw the other beginning to walk along the path in his direction.
Ravenscroft continued his walk, away from the figure, towards the slopes of the northern hill, not wishing to turn around, should his follower consider that he had been observed in so doing. As he quickened his pace he felt the beat of his heart becoming louder. He paused once more, and under the pretext of removing one item of his footwear to free an imaginary stone from its inside, he glanced over his shoulder quickly and saw that the figure had closed the distance between the two of them.
Swiftly replacing his boot, he continued with his journey. At this time of the early evening, when the paths were free from walkers, and the sun was setting, he began to feel that the quiet, eerie peace of the hills above him would suddenly overwhelm and engulf him. A man could fall to his death out here, he thought, or lie injured all night beneath the stars and no one would ever know of his plight and his loss. He drew his coat closer to him as he felt a cold shiver run down his back.
He walked faster now, knowing all the time that the other would be gaining upon him and that their meeting would be inevitable.
In the distance he could see the rock of the Ivy Scar coming into view. He increased his pace so that he might reach the seat near its summit in good time. He looked behind him and saw that the figure had stopped also, and was looking in his direction. Dressed entirely in black from head to toe, Ravenscroft was unable, however, to make out the features of his pursuer.
He gained the seat, near the edge of the rock, where the land fell away sharply, and stared out at the landscape below him, waiting for the other to join him — knowing that shortly he would be able to confirm everything he had suspected.
‘Good evening to you, Mr Ravenscroft,’ said the figure in the black cloak sitting down beside him.
Ravenscroft said nothing, as the other continued. ‘A fine view up here, I think you would agree? So isolated, yet you feel you have the world at your feet. So much so, you feel you could achieve almost anything. You have done well, Mr Ravenscroft. I gather you have received the replies to your telegrams?’
‘I did indeed receive these, late this afternoon’ said Ravenscroft, reaching deep into his coat pocket, and taking out some sheets of folded paper.
‘The first reply confirms that Charles Lambert was a medical practitioner in Grange-Over-Sands, for many years, until his death five years ago. The second confirms the birth of his child, a child who joined his father in the medical practice when it grew up, becoming in fact a partner in that same concern. When Charles Lambert died, the practice was sold, and his son who also went by the name of Charles Lambert, moved to Malvern where he changed his name — becoming the proprietor and chief medical officer of the Tudor Hydropathic Establishment! You did well Doctor Mountcourt — or should I say Doctor Lambert? — to conceal your identity, but not well enough.’
‘I really must congratulate you on your fine detective work,’ said Mountcourt, smiling. ‘May I ask when it was you first suspected me?’
‘As soon as I discovered the true significance of the walking sticks this morning, I recalled that other morning when we encountered each other outside St Ann’s well. Your stick made a tapping sound on the path and I remember looking up and seeing the silver handle.’
‘Yes, that was rather foolish and vain of me. I inherited the stick from my father, and as it was so fine, I could not resist using it.’
‘Then there was the morning after my illness, when you were quite put out when you learnt that I was staying on at the Tudor, and in Malvern, to continue with my investigations into the case. You had hoped that there had been enough suspicion put on Old Penny to warrant an end to the matter. You were not very good at disguising your feelings, Doctor Lambert.’
‘I see I have underestimated you, Inspector.’
‘From my first-hand observations, I could also see that the Tudor had seen better days,’ continued Ravenscroft. ‘The premises must have been costing you a lot to run and maintain, and yet the half empty dining room and treatment rooms suggested that you had not been successful in attracting a sufficient wealthy clientele.’
‘You are correct in your observations,’ replied Mountcourt calmly.
‘Tell me one thing. Did you come back to Malvern with the intention of removing the other members of the tontine or did the idea take root only once you had arrived here?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘My father told me about the legacy of the tontine shortly before he died, and urged me to seek out my claim. When I heard that the Tudor was up for sale, I decided to return to Malvern and purchase the establishment, a rash act that was to prove costly for me. The first thing I did upon my arrival here was to visit the bank to see if I could find out more about the surviving founders of the tontine, but of course they knew nothing. Then I thought that perhaps the original papers had been lodged at the Library and Reading Rooms, so one day I went there to view them. It was an easy act to remove the original foundation document from the file while Clifford was attending to another client. Now that I knew who the other members of the tontine were, I was prepared at first to wait for each of them to die — they were after all quite elderly, and would be sure to die in the coming years. I also learnt that none of them had any surviving heirs, which made my own claim all the stronger.’
‘But you found after a while that you could not wait?’ interjected Ravenscroft.
‘My debts at the Tudor were mounting. I had little funds available to improve the facilities and the clientele began to go elsewhere to the more fashionable establishments in the town. I was heavily mortgaged and knew that another few months would have seen the end of all my hopes,’ continued Mountcourt in a dry matter-of-fact tone of voice. ‘So I decided to kill Pitzer. I wrote him a letter saying that I had some important confidential news concerning the railway company, which might be of some financial benefit to him, but that I could not be seen conversing with him as I had interests in a rival concern. I knew that he could not resist such a meeting, being the greedy man that he was. I arranged for a boy from the town to deliver the letter, and then kept my rendezvous with Pitzer in his study. It was easy to pour the poison into his glass when he was not looking, but as he fell forwards, he dropped the glass on the floor and the maid called out. I was fearful that she might enter at any moment, so I only had time to pick up the glass and remove my letter before hastily leaving the room.’
‘Leaving the door slightly ajar behind you, and not having time to rinse out the glass,’ added Ravenscroft.
‘I suppose you would have noticed that. If you had not been there that night, Ravenscroft, I would have succeeded in my plans. I knew that stupid man Gladwyn would have declared that Pitzer had died of a stroke, or some such like, and no one would have guessed that he had been poisoned — but then you had to interfere,’ said Mountcourt, a note of annoyance creeping into his voice.
‘Then you killed Sommersby,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘That was easy. All I had to do was to wait until all the pupils were engaged elsewhere and slip into the library from the quadrangle when he was alone. Yes, Inspector, I hit him on the head, and then pulled the bookcase over on top of him to make it look like an accident — but again, of course you were there on the scene to prove the case. You were in danger of becoming a nuisance, Inspector Ravenscroft! I resolved to low lie for a while and hope that Gladwyn and Touchmore would soon die — and that you would eventually become frustrated trying to solve the case and leave for London.’
‘But then Gladwyn guessed the terrible truth and recognised you as the son of his former colleague,’ suggested Ravenscroft.
‘Right again, Inspector! I had become friendly with the old tramp, Penny, and could see how he could be useful to me. I instructed him
to watch Gladwyn’s house — yes, his eyesight was not as bad as everyone had supposed — and that was where he saw you and your assistant. I knew I had to act quickly before Gladwyn worked out who had killed Pitzer and Sommersby. I gave Old Penny instructions about how to make up a story about his dying wife, and how he was to lure Gladwyn out to the Raggedstone, where I could confront and kill him without others seeing — but then you arrived shortly on the scene and I had to hide in the undergrowth. I was so close to you I could hear every word you said. Is that not frustrating to learn now, Inspector? That you were within yards of catching your quarry! I had told Penny that he was to make his way back with all haste, to the old cave, where he was to hide until I could join him later. As you and your constable set off in pursuit of the old tramp, I was given enough time to make my way along the lower slopes of the hills, until I saw my opportunity to meet up with him.’
‘Where you pushed him off the cliff top,’ added Ravenscroft.
‘Oh don’t be so dramatic, Inspector! The man was a useless parasite anyway, a drain on society,’ replied Mountcourt with a sneer. ‘Then you fell ill and everyone thought that Penny had killed the three men. I knew I was safe — and that only Touchmore now stood between the tontine legacy and me. All I had to do then was to wait for you to leave, and dispose of Touchmore later in my own time. But then you changed your mind and decided to stay — damn you, Ravenscroft! But then my luck changed again, with the arrests of Armitage and Troutbridge. Perhaps you would be stupid enough to think that they had committed the murders! I should have known better. When I heard this morning that you had gone to the bank and were parading round with that stupid stick, I knew that it would only be a matter of time before you discovered the truth.’
‘You could not expect that you could hide for ever? Everyone is answerable to the law,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘The law, my dear Inspector, what use is the law to us out here?’ laughed Mountcourt. ‘Why do you think I have confessed all this to you? You must have realised by now that I cannot possibly let you arrest me,’ he said, standing up. ‘No, the townsfolk of Malvern will wake up tomorrow morning to learn of yet another tragic accident. How the poor unfortunate police inspector had fallen to his death from the Ivy Scar Rock. The poor man was under a great deal of pressure to bring the murderer to book, they will say, and they will surmise that perhaps you really committed suicide rather than face the terrible truth that you were a pathetic failure.’