by Kerry Tombs
Ravenscroft held the handkerchief up to his nose with one hand, whilst using the other to assist the constable in removing the garment, Crabb being content to remain at some distance. ‘Thank you, Constable, now let us see what is in his pockets. A few coins, a handkerchief — ah, this is what we are looking for Crabb — a set of keys on this ring.’
‘Could be the keys to the library, sir,’ suggested Crabb.
‘Almost certain I would say. You take charge of them, and when we return to Worcester we will see if they fit. There seems to be nothing else of interest on his person. No sign of the book.’
‘Could have fallen out of his pocket?’
‘If that is the case, the Whisperie is now lying on the bed of the River Severn!’
‘Then we shall never recover it, sir.’
‘I don’t think we should reconcile ourselves to that assumption just yet. We know that Evelyn in all probability took the book, and that when he left the cathedral he walked down the steps to the river. Why go down there at that time of night? I fancy that he must have been going to meet someone — in which case he could have given the book to the person whom he had arranged to meet,’ replied Ravenscroft, deep in thought.
‘Then that person killed him and threw him into the river,’ added Crabb, after a moment or two.
‘Perhaps — or he lost his footing on the way back and fell in the water.’
‘Poor fellow,’ said Crabb mournfully. ‘To have worked in the cathedral for forty years and to have met his end like this seems a great shame.’
‘What we need to find out, Crabb, is who it was that Evelyn was meeting that night. Then we might be able to find out why Evelyn took the book, and who now has it.’
‘I think we should go and pay our respects to Superintendent Henderson, sir,’ suggested Crabb.
‘Of course, over there you say?’
The two men made their way over to the old timber-beamed inn situated a few yards further along the towpath. As they neared the building they were met by the sound of laughter and loud voices.
‘I should go steady, sir,’ said Crabb looking, down at the ground sheepishly.
Ravenscroft gave Crabb a perplexed look, before pushing open the door to the inn. Five or six men were standing round the bar.
‘—and I said to the snotty-nosed corporal, clean your bloody rifle or the damned Russians will roast you alive!’
The speaker was a late-middle-aged man of military bearing, dressed in a long overcoat, who was leaning on the bar with one elbow, whilst holding a glass of whisky in his other hand. His companions burst out laughing at his last remark.
‘—and so this silly idiot of a man turns to me, puffs himself up like an overblown melon and says who the bloody hell is giving me orders?’
More laughter ensued from the group.
‘And who the devil might you be, sir?’ said the speaker, suddenly noticing Ravenscroft’s arrival. ‘We have no comment to make to the papers at this stage,’ he said, turning away to the bar.
‘I’m not from the local newspaper; I’m Inspector Ravenscroft from the Yard. I’m looking for Superintendent Henderson of the Worcester Constabulary.’
‘Are you indeed? Well, you have found him: I’m Henderson,’ said the speaker, giving his companions an amused glance.
‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance, sir,’ said Ravenscroft, stepping forward.
‘So you’re Ravenscroft. All the way from London, you say. Can’t see why they should have sent for you. We are more than capable of dealing with the case.’
‘I was asked to come down here by the cathedral authorities.’
‘Were you, by Wellington! Dammed insult I call it. It’s a bad reflection on the local force when they have to call in outsiders. Dammed rude of you to have started your investigations before paying your respects,’ snapped Henderson, his moustache bristling.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said Ravenscroft, looking down at the floor of the bar.
‘Er, still, I suppose it is not your fault. I expect you were only obeying orders, as they say. Got to do what the Yard tells you. Well seeing as you are here, you might as well join me in a tincture, Ravenscroft.’
‘Not while I am on duty, sir, thank you.’
‘That’s high and mighty of you, Ravenscroft!’
‘We’ll see you later, Reggie,’ said one the drinkers, making his excuses and preparing to leave.
‘No need to go, gentlemen. That fellow we pulled out of the river ain’t going anywhere.’
‘Nevertheless, Reggie, time we were going,’ said another of the group.
‘See you later, gentlemen. The inspector and I will resume our conversation outside,’ replied Henderson, clearly irritated by his junior’s arrival.
Ravenscroft stepped out of the inn where he was confronted by an anxious Crabb. ‘I see you have met with the superintendent then,’ whispered the constable, before standing to attention, as the door of the inn opened once more and Henderson stepped forth.
‘You’ve had a look at the body then, Ravenscroft?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well, what do you make of it?’ asked the superintendent, in an annoyed tone of voice, and walking back briskly towards the body on the side of the river-bank.
‘He has obviously been in the water for a few days. Whether he was murdered, or just lost his footing—’ began Ravenscroft, attempting to keep up with his superior.
‘If you ask me, Ravenscroft, I’d say the fellow probably had too much to drink, lost his footing and fell in the river.’
‘We found a set of keys on him, which would suggest that he is Evelyn, the librarian.’
‘I see,’ said Henderson approaching the body. ‘I see. Did you find the book on him?’
‘Afraid not, sir.’
‘Not surprising. It looks to me as though someone just broke into the library and stole the book. Smashed the case; no consideration!’
‘Have you come up with any information that might lead us to the culprit, sir?’ asked Ravenscroft, as tactfully as he could.
‘No, we have not!’ snapped Henderson. ‘That’s your job. The force has plenty of more important things to deal with at the moment than to spend our time trying to recover some old religious book! I’ve got the races to organize on Pitchcroft next week. You get on with it. Find out who took the book, Ravenscroft.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And keep me fully informed. I want to be kept up to date with progress in this case. Can’t afford to offend the cathedral.’
‘Yes, sir, of course.’
‘And you, Constable, see that the undertaker is called. Can’t have this fellow lying here all day! Damn sightseers will be arriving soon! Good day to you, Ravenscroft.’
‘Good day, sir.’
Ravenscroft and Crabb watched their superior officer stride off across the grass towards his waiting cab.
‘So that was Superintendent Henderson,’ remarked Ravenscroft, breathing a sigh of relief.
‘I tried to warn you, sir. Apparently he used be a major in the army before he was elevated to the local constabulary. They say he fought in the Crimea. The men are not all that keen on him, by all accounts.’
‘Oh, why is that?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Rather too fond of the bottle,’ said Crabb, rubbing the side of his nose.
‘I take your meaning, Crabb. Well, I think that is all we can do here for today. Time I returned to Worcester to try the fare at the Cardinal’s Hat. We’ll meet again in the Cathedral Close at nine in the morning.’
Ravenscroft slept badly. The unfamiliar surroundings, a particularly unappetizing supper, and the sounds of a late night drunken reveller outside the hostelry all conspired to keep him awake until the early hours of the morning. He rose at seven and, after dressing and partaking of some early morning refreshment, he set off to explore the streets of the town.
He retraced his steps of the previous day, back along Friar Street and the Shambles, and through
the main thoroughfare, until he reached the railway station. He then turned down one of the side roads to his left, and eventually found himself on the towpath on the banks of the Severn.
He looked along the river-bank, past the bridge and the warehouses, towards the mighty cathedral. To Ravenscroft, the building seemed to tower over all that was before it, declaring its importance and dominance over the affairs of the town. He began to wonder what events it had witnessed down through the centuries, and what secrets it retained within the confines of its walls.
As he made his way along the towpath, he passed a number of boats, the occupants of whom were busily engaged in unloading various cargoes, and transporting the sacks and boxes to a large warehouse on the side of the quay. He then walked beneath the shadow of the cathedral until he reached a set of steps, which he knew would almost certainly take him up to the precincts of the building. Ravenscroft paused and looked out across the river. This must have been where Evelyn had made his way that night before he had met with his unfortunate death — but which way had he then turned after he had walked down from the cathedral? If he had taken the route back towards the bridge, he might then have made his way up towards the town, but if this had been his intention, Ravenscroft concluded, it would surely have been quicker to have turned into the town from the cathedral in the first place. The more he considered the possibilities, the more it seemed probable that Evelyn would have gone in the other direction, taking the path that led away from the cathedral and the town. If that was the case, where was it that Evelyn was going at such a late hour?
Ravenscroft decided to follow the towpath. After a while the outer stone walls of the cathedral precincts ended and he passed an inn overlooking the river. Perhaps Evelyn had met someone there that night?
He continued on further, passing a number of derelict buildings and one or two fine houses on his way, until he reached the entrance of the Birmingham to Worcester Canal, where a boat was awaiting its turn to enter the lock gate. Could Evelyn have met with someone on one of the boats perhaps? The possibilities appeared to be endless. Whoever it was who Evelyn had met that night, had killed the poor man and thrown his body into the Severn. As Ravenscroft looked down at the murky waters, he resolved that he would send Crabb to call at the inn, and also to make enquiries at the lock gate, to see whether anyone could remember seeing Evelyn that night.
He decided it was time to return to the cathedral and, after retracing his steps along the bank of the river, he made his way back up to the Close.
Finding a seat on the green, he sat down and looked at the range of buildings that ran round the cathedral precincts. There was the house where the Tovey sisters lived, and Touchmore’s imposing residence as befitted his status as the Dean of Worcester Cathedral.
Deep in thought, he suddenly felt something running into his leg, and looking down found a metal hoop at his feet. He picked up the object. A small boy, not more than six or seven years of age was running towards him, closely followed by a woman who was endeavouring to keep up with him.
‘Please, sir, can I have my hoop back?’ asked the boy looking across at him with appealing eyes.
‘Of course you can,’ smiled Ravenscroft. The boy reminded him of another, younger boy he had seen the previous year. That child had been playing with his toys, and had a mother to care for him.
‘I’m so sorry, sir. Will you please forgive my son?’ The speaker was evidently the child’s mother. Ravenscroft observed that she was simply dressed, plain in appearance and in her mid-twenties. ‘Of course, it is no problem, I can assure you. It is good to see the little fellow enjoying himself,’ he replied.
‘I bring him here, as there is more space for him to play. Where we live, near the Cornmarket, there is nowhere he can go and play, and it’s too dangerous by the river. We usually manage to come here every day for a few minutes, before I start work.’
‘Please take a seat,’ offered Ravenscroft, sensing that he might be able to gain some local information from the woman, ‘I’m sure your boy will manage to entertain himself, while you recover your composure.’
‘That is most kind of you, sir. I don’t think I have seen you here before?’
‘No. I live in London.’
‘London! My word, I’ve always wondered what London must be like. I imagine all the people there are very busy, and very rich,’ said the young woman taking her place on the seat.
‘Well, everyone is certainly busy, but not many people there are rich,’ smiled Ravenscroft.
‘The Queen, she lives there. She must be very rich?’
‘She is indeed.’
‘Have you seen the Queen, sir?’
‘I saw her once, and only briefly. She came by in her carriage.’
‘My! I should like to have seen her,’ said the woman sadly. ‘She must be very grand. And what brings you to Worcester? Oh, I’m sorry. People say I am always asking questions about things that don’t concern me.’
‘I don’t mind answering your question. I’m a detective. I have come down here to investigate the disappearance of the librarian at the cathedral.’
‘Oh!’ exclaimed the woman.
‘You knew Mr Evelyn?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Why yes, sir. He lives in the same lodging house as me and my boy. We have rooms on the ground floor, and he has rooms on the top floor. He is always good and kind to us, sir. Whenever he sees my boy he often pats him on the head and gives him a farthing.’
‘That is very good of him.’
‘And now everyone says he’s missing.’
‘You have not seen him since the night he disappeared?’
‘No. Be careful, Arthur. Don’t go to near the houses!’ she cried out to the boy.
‘Did Mr Evelyn mention that he was going away?’
‘No. He said nothing to me about going away.’
‘Did he ever say anything about a book called the Whisperie?’ asked Ravenscroft leaning forward.
‘Whisperie. My, that’s a funny name. No, I don’t think Mr Evelyn ever mentioned anything about a Whisperie.’
‘Was he in the habit of receiving visitors to his rooms?’
‘Oh no, sir; he always kept very much to himself. We used to laugh and say you could set your watch by the time Mr Evelyn went out to work. He always left at half past eight in the morning, and came home at exactly half past six in the evening. Six days a week; it was always the same.’
‘Did he ever go away, to stay with friends perhaps, to travel, or go on holiday?’
‘No. I don’t think so. He always seemed to be there. He didn’t seem to go out much in the evenings either.’
‘He seems to have lived a very lonely life.’
‘Yes, I suppose he did, but you speak as though something has happened to him.’
‘You mentioned that you come here every day,’ said Ravenscroft, changing the subject and leaning back in his seat.
‘Yes, before I start work.’
‘And you always sit on this seat?’
‘Yes,’ replied the woman, a puzzled expression on her face.
‘When you have been sitting here, have you ever seen Mr Evelyn perhaps talking with someone?’
‘No, I don’t think so. He was always at work by then, I suppose.’
‘And where do you work?’ enquired Ravenscroft, curious to know more about the woman he had engaged in conversation.
‘At that house over there, across the Green,’ she replied, pointing at one of the large imposing buildings. ‘I’m a parlour maid. I work for Sir Arthur Griffiths. He is the Member of Parliament for the town. He is a very important man,’ she added proudly.
‘I’m sure he is — and you must consider yourself fortunate that you work in such a fine house.’
‘I do indeed. Sir Arthur is often away in London, but when he is here, he always seems to be busy, entertaining and such like. We are kept very occupied.’
‘You have worked there long?’
‘For about eight yea
rs, sir.’
‘You must like it.’
‘Yes, there is always plenty to do. Sir Arthur lives there with his only daughter, Miss Griffiths, she has charge of the house.’
‘It is a pleasant residence, overlooking the cathedral. I would certainly like to live in such a house,’ said Ravenscroft smiling.
‘One day my son will live in such a house,’ she replied looking away. Ravenscroft thought he could detect a note of sadness in her voice. ‘Well, sir, you will have to excuse me. It is time I took my son to school, before I commence my duties for the day.’
‘Of course,’ said Ravenscroft rising to his feet. ‘Thank you for talking to me — and you are?’
‘Ruth Weston, sir.’
‘Well, Mrs Weston, perhaps we may—’
‘Miss, sir. Miss Weston.’
‘I’m sorry. Miss Weston. I have enjoyed our conversation. Perhaps we might talk together again?’
‘Yes, I am generally here at this time each morning. I hope you find Mr Evelyn.’
‘Good day to you, Miss Weston,’ replied Ravenscroft.
‘Arthur, come here. It is time for school.’
Ravenscroft resumed his seat and watched the woman taking her child’s hand. He followed them with his eyes as they left the cathedral grounds. He resolved to call upon the Member of Parliament in the near future. Perhaps someone in the household might have additional information regarding Evelyn and the night in question. The more he learned about the reclusive librarian, the more the man intrigued him. Evelyn had appeared to have lived such a dull existence, almost to the point of boredom. What had then suddenly driven a man of such regular, sober habits, to commit a deed which seemed so alien to his whole personality? What force could have caused such a dramatic change?
‘You look deep in thought, sir.’
‘Ah, Crabb, I did not see you there,’ said Ravenscroft, looking up at his constable.
‘I trust you slept well at the Cardinal’s Hat?’
‘Not particularly well, thank you. But what news of the keys we recovered from the body?’
‘They appear to fit both the doors to the library, and the cases. No doubt about it: they were Evelyn’s keys all right,’ answered Crabb, taking his seat beside Ravenscroft.