The Inspector Ravenscroft Mysteries Box Set

by Kerry Tombs

  CHAPTER SIX

  LEDBURY AND LONDON, 3 JANUARY 1889

  The early morning sun shone brightly on the snow-covered road as Ravenscroft and his wife walked arm in arm up the Homend towards the railway station.

  ‘Now, you are sure you have everything, Samuel?’

  ‘You have asked me that same question twice already, my dear,’ replied Ravenscroft.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Lucy, somewhat crestfallen.

  ‘No, it is I that should apologize. I am not used to having such an attractive wife who takes such great pleasure in organizing me. I am a fortunate man indeed,’ replied Ravenscroft, squeezing his wife’s hand.

  ‘How long do you think you will be away for?’

  ‘At this stage I cannot tell. Hopefully, Gambit and Ashbury may be able to provide me with some information regarding the unfortunate owner of the coat. Once I have learnt his identity, I can then find out as much as I can about him. Then we might be able to discover eventually why he came to Ledbury, and who killed him.’

  ‘The poor, unfortunate man. Fancy coming all this way to Ledbury just to die like that, and at Christmas as well.’

  ‘That is the biggest mystery of all.’

  ‘What happens if your Gambit and Ashbury have no knowledge of the owner of the coat?’

  ‘Then all I can do is see if the Yard has any information on the man and ensure that his description is circulated to all the stations in London. I am sure that someone somewhere must know who he is. Either way, I hope to be back by tomorrow.’

  ‘Do you think that this man’s murder has anything to do with poor Mr Montacute’s death?’ asked Lucy as they approached the station.

  ‘In all honesty, I just don’t know at this time. I have instructed Tom Crabb to continue with the investigation whilst I am away. He will interview some more of the guests at the ball to see if anyone can remember seeing anything.’

  ‘Good morning to you, sir,’ said the ticket collector at the station.

  ‘Good morning to you as well. I would like a ticket to London, please.’

  ‘First or second class, sir?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think the police authorities would allow me the indulgence of first-class rail travel,’ said Ravenscroft, smiling.

  After purchasing his ticket, Ravenscroft and his wife walked on to the platform. ‘It seems very quiet today,’ said Lucy, looking round at the near-empty platform, where only two gentlemen could be seen conversing with one another.

  ‘I suppose not that many people want to travel at this time of year.’

  ‘Spare us a halfpenny, governor!’

  Ravenscroft turned. He had not noticed the old, bearded beggar sitting on one of the seats near the entrance. He reached into his pocket, took out a coin and gave it to the man, before moving his wife away down the platform.

  ‘Samuel, you should not encourage these people,’ whispered Lucy.

  ‘The man looked in need of a good wash and some food. It was the least I could do, considering this cold weather,’ replied Ravenscroft. He looked across once more to where the beggar had been sitting, but found that the occupant of the seat had quickly departed.

  ‘You have a soft heart, Samuel Ravenscroft, and I love you for it,’ said Lucy, laughing.

  ‘Strange, but I thought I had seen that fellow before.’

  ‘Probably loitering around the streets of Ledbury?’

  ‘I expect you are correct, my dear. No matter. Now please take care of yourself and little Richard whilst I am away,’ said Ravenscroft, stepping back from the edge of the platform as the noise of the approaching train could be heard. ‘Do you know, I have only been away from London for a few weeks, and yet it seems that I have always lived here in Ledbury.’

  ‘That is because you are content – and happy,’ said Lucy, smiling.

  ‘And may it long be so.’

  The train drew into the station, and Ravenscroft opened the door of one of the carriages.

  ‘Take care, Samuel. I could not bear it if you never returned,’ said Lucy, gripping her husband’s arm and quickly planting a kiss on his cheek.

  ‘Do not worry, Lucy. I have every intention of returning to Ledbury, I can assure you.’

  Lucy waved as the train slowly pulled away from the station, and it was not until it finally disappeared from view that she moved away from the edge of the platform and made her way out of the building.

  No passengers from Hereford had alighted from the train, and she began to make her solitary way back towards the town. Only the old ragged beggar seemed to have noticed the passage of her journey.…

  Later that day, Ravenscroft found himself standing outside the opulent premises of Gambit and Ashbury, situated in the area of London known as St James’s. He glanced at the expensive coats and suits displayed in the windows with some degree of envy, acknowledging that he would never be able to afford any of the items on offer with his insignificant salary.

  ‘Good morning to you, sir,’ said the doorman, ushering him into the shop. Ravenscroft found himself in a large room lined with rows of glass-fronted cabinets. Two or three assistants were occupied serving customers; at the far end of the room another client stood with outstretched arms, having his measurements taken.

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ said a middle-aged assistant, coming forward to meet him. ‘How may I be of assistance to you?’

  Ravenscroft observed that the man was running his eyes over his drab coat with a slight look of disapproval, and felt uneasy in such austere surroundings. ‘I would like some information.’

  ‘Of course, sir – a new overcoat, perhaps?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Ah, a new suit might be more to your liking. Or perhaps sir is about to undertake a journey to the country?’

  ‘No, I have come up from the country today.’

  ‘Evening wear – yes, of course.’

  ‘No. I require some information regarding one of your clients.’

  ‘I’m afraid we cannot disclose any information regarding our clientele. Our customers come to us in the full knowledge that they are being dealt with in the strictest confidence,’ said the assistant, adopting a more defensive tone and giving Ravenscroft a cautious look out of the corner of his eye.

  ‘My name is Ravenscroft, Inspector Ravenscroft. I am making enquiries concerning the death of one of your clients.’

  ‘I think it would be expedient if we were to step into the back room, sir,’ replied the assistant in a low tone of voice.

  ‘I understand.’

  Ravenscroft followed the assistant through the door at the rear of the shop and soon found himself in a large office.

  ‘As I said, Inspector, all our clients come to us in the strictest confidence.’

  ‘I appreciate that, sir, but unfortunately the client I am particularly interested in met with an untimely end in the town of Ledbury, and therefore the issue of confidentiality no longer applies in this case. There was nothing on his person to enable us to identify him. He was, however, wearing a long overcoat with your name inside.’

  ‘We sell many overcoats. All of them are, of course, handmade individually to fit the requirements of our customers,’ said the assistant, forcing a brief smile and clearly feeling uncomfortable.

  ‘The deceased was wearing an overcoat of this design,’ said Ravenscroft, reaching into his pocket and laying the piece of material on the desk.

  ‘Ah yes, that would be from our Moncrief range, individually crafted by our tailors, on the premises, for the discerning gentleman. It is one of our most expensive cloths,’ replied the assistant, picking up the material and running it through his fingers.

  ‘Have you sold one recently? Say in the last year or so? The coat was practically new,’ said Ravenscroft.

  ‘A number, I would expect.’

  ‘How many is a number, sir?’

  ‘We usually sell six or seven a year.’

  ‘This gentleman in question was tall and thin, probably ju
st over six feet in height, and size 36. Do you keep records?’

  ‘Certainly,’ said the assistant, replacing the cloth on the desk and consulting a large open ledger. ‘I will need to go through our records.’

  Ravenscroft watched as the assistant turned back the pages, running his fingers down the neat copperplate writing. ‘Ah, here we are, Inspector. This would seem to fulfil your requirements – Moncrief overcoat, size 36, height of client six feet one inch. Sold just over one year ago.’

  ‘And the name of the client?’

  ‘I don’t really—’

  ‘I must remind you, sir, that this is a murder enquiry. The name, if you please.’

  ‘Robertson,’ replied the assistant somewhat reluctantly after a few moments silence.

  ‘Can you remember anything at all about the gentleman? Was he one of your regular clients?’

  The assistant thought deeply for a moment or two. ‘No, he was not one of our regular customers. In fact, he was not a gentleman at all. He was a coachman, if I remember correctly,’ he continued, a note of disapproval in his voice.

  ‘I knew it!’ exclaimed Ravenscroft. ‘Tell me, Mr—’

  ‘Webster.’

  ‘Mr Webster. How much would the coat have cost? It would surely have been out of range for a humble coachman to have afforded?’

  ‘You are correct in that assumption, Inspector.’

  ‘Perhaps his employer purchased the coat for his coachman?’ suggested Ravenscroft.

  ‘That was indeed the case in this instance.’

  ‘It would be helpful, sir, to our inquiries, if you could provide me with the name and address of Mr Robertson’s employer.’

  ‘I’m afraid I am not at liberty to disclose such information,’ replied Webster, adopting his former defensive posture.

  ‘And I have to remind you, sir, that this is a murder enquiry,’ said Ravenscroft, trying to sound as assertive as he could.

  ‘That may be true, Inspector, but if it was learnt that I had violated the confidentiality of a client’s trust, our business would suffer the gravest consequences.’

  ‘If I have to return later this afternoon with a warrant and twenty policemen to search these premises, I think we would agree that your clients would withdraw their patronage once they had received news of our visit,’ said Ravenscroft firmly, becoming increasingly impatient at the salesman’s intransigence.

  The two men looked at one another. Finally the assistant turned away. ‘I cannot provide you with the information you require, Inspector. If it was discovered that I had divulged the name of Robertson’s employer to you, then the integrity of the business and my position would be severely called into question. However, if I was to be called away into the shop urgently to deal with a customer, I could not be held responsible for any action an individual might carry out in my absence,’ remarked Webster, tapping the ledger with his forefinger.

  Ravenscroft smiled and took out his notebook as the assistant walked back into the shop.

  Ravenscroft walked up the two steps and rang the bell of the elegant townhouse. ‘I would like to speak with Sir James Stanhope,’ he said, addressing the maid who opened the door.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but Sir James is not at home at present. Who shall I say has called?’

  ‘Who is that, Simpson?’ called a man’s voice from inside the house.

  ‘A gentleman to see Sir James, Mr Saunders,’ replied the maid, moving to one side of the entrance doorway.

  ‘Good day to you, sir, I had hoped for a few words with your master,’ said Ravenscroft, addressing the butler.

  ‘Sir James is visiting his club at present,’ replied Saunders in a superior tone, casting a wayward glance in Ravenscroft’s direction and indicating that the maid should close the door.

  ‘Then perhaps I might have a word with you, Mr Saunders,’ said Ravenscroft quickly, anxious that he should not be excluded now that he had come so far. ‘It is concerning Robertson, your coachman.’

  ‘You have news of Robertson?’ asked the butler anxiously, returning to face him.

  ‘My name is Ravenscroft, Inspector Ravenscroft. Perhaps you will allow me to enter? I have some very important news regarding your coachman.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course – if you would care to follow me, Inspector.’

  Ravenscroft followed the butler into the hallway, down a flight of stairs and into a small room situated at the rear of the kitchens.

  ‘Please take a seat, Inspector,’ said Saunders, indicating a chair. ‘You say you have news of Robertson?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Saunders. But tell me first, when was the last time you saw Robertson?’

  ‘The day before Christmas – he was given two days leave for the Christmas season by Sir James.’

  ‘Did Mr Robertson say where he was going?’

  ‘I don’t think so. We all assumed that he was visiting relatives or friends for Christmas.’

  ‘Would it surprise you to learn, Mr Saunders, that he travelled to Ledbury?’

  ‘Ledbury? I am sorry, where is Ledbury?’ asked the butler, a puzzled expression on his face.

  ‘In Herefordshire,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘Did he say when he would be returning?’

  ‘On the twenty-sixth, I believe.’

  ‘I’m afraid I have some very bad news for you. Mr Robertson was unfortunately killed in Ledbury.’

  ‘Oh, dear me! What a terrible thing to happen! That would explain why he did not return. Sir James – indeed the whole staff – have been most concerned over his absence. You say he was killed? Was it a coach or a railway accident?’

  ‘Mr Robertson was in fact murdered. Someone struck him on the head with a heavy object, probably a stone,’ replied Ravenscroft, looking down at the floor.

  ‘How dreadful!’ replied the butler, visibly shaken.

  ‘So you can see, Mr Saunders, why it is important that we learn as much as we can about Mr Robertson,’ said Ravenscroft, trying to sound as sympathetic as he could.

  ‘Yes. I see. What would you like to know?’

  ‘How long had Robertson been in your master’s employ?’

  ‘Four years. Yes, just over four years.’

  ‘And he was Sir James’s coachman, I believe?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell me, what was the nature of his duties?’

  ‘He conveyed Sir James round town in his carriage.’

  ‘Did Sir James purchase an expensive new coat for his coachman, about a year ago?’

  ‘Yes. Sir James always likes to see his servants have the best attire. But how do you know about the coat?’ asked a baffled Saunders.

  ‘It was just that Robertson was wearing the coat when he was killed. Did Robertson ever mention the town of Ledbury to you in any conversation you had with him?’ asked Ravenscroft.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did Mr Robertson have any relatives that you know of?’

  ‘No. He was a single gentleman, I believe.’

  ‘So he never mentioned any relations or acquaintances?’

  ‘No. He appeared to be quite alone in the world.’

  ‘I wonder if I might have a look at his room?’ asked Ravenscroft, rising from his seat.

  ‘Yes, of course, but I don’t see what use that will be to you, Inspector.’

  ‘I believe that Mr Robertson went to Ledbury for a specific purpose. There may be something in his room which may help us to determine the reason for his visit.’

  The butler led the way up three flights of stairs at the rear of the house, and through a door which opened out on to a landing. ‘Mr Robertson’s room was there,’ indicated Saunders, pointing to one of the rooms.

  ‘Thank you. You mentioned that Mr Robertson appeared quite alone in the world. There must have been someone in the house whom he confided in?’ asked Ravenscroft, opening the door to the coachman’s room.

  ‘There was no one in particular. There was perhaps Simpson, the maid. They walked out once or twice, that’s all, nothing serious.
She opened the door to you when you arrived.’

  ‘Mr Saunders, you have been more than helpful. I wonder if I might speak with Simpson?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. I’ll ask her to come up here.’

  ‘That would be most kind of you. Before you go, however, there is one more thing you could do for me.’

  ‘Anything, Inspector.’

  ‘What did Robertson do in his spare time?’

  ‘Nothing really. He usually kept to his room.’

  ‘So the only time he went out was when he was performing his duties with Sir James?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It may be useful to our enquiries if we could build up a picture of the dead man’s activities. I wonder if it would be possible for you to make a list of the places where Robertson used to take Sir James?’

  ‘That may be difficult, Inspector. Robertson was used to taking Sir James to a great many places in London.’

  ‘I appreciate that. A list of perhaps the most frequent places would be useful.’

  Ravenscroft listened to the butler’s footsteps making their way down the stairs and then turned his attention to the coachman’s living quarters. The room was simply furnished – a brass bed, wash stand, chest of drawers, bedside cabinet, small bookcase and a chair – and a mahogany-framed cracked mirror hung on one of the walls, while a thin, plain rug lay on the floor. Clearly Sir James Stanhope’s fashionable concerns for the appearance of his servants did not extend to their rooms. He opened the chest of drawers and went through them one at a time, but found only various items of clothing, then took down the five or six books from the bookcase and examined them in detail for any loose papers or inscriptions. A search of the wardrobe and its contents proved equally futile. Finally he opened the top drawer of the bedside cabinet, and lifted out a small framed print which he found there.

  He walked over to the window so that he might obtain a better view of the contents of the frame. The print was an early nineteenth-century view of the exterior of an unnamed church, similar to many thousands of others that had been produced at that time to illustrate topographic books. Ravenscroft studied the print, and the more he looked at it the more it seemed to be familiar to him. He began to wonder why Robertson had kept such an insignificant framed print in his bedside cabinet. He turned the frame over but found no writing on the back to indicate the name of the church, but then, observing that it was loose, he lifted up the one rusty tack that was holding the frame together and removed the print from its housing. There in faded writing on the back of the print were the words ‘Ledbury Church, Herefordshire. 1805’. So that was why the print had looked so familiar to Ravenscroft – and that was why Robertson had journeyed to Ledbury! He had not chosen to travel to Ledbury at random – the town obviously had some appeal or fascination for the coachman. Robertson had kept the print in the cabinet by the side of his bed because of its strong associations. Perhaps Robertson had once lived in Ledbury?