The Inspector Ravenscroft Mysteries Box Set

by Kerry Tombs

  ‘Ravenscroft. Detective Inspector Ravenscroft.’

  ‘Ravenscroft you say. Now where have I heard that name before? Ravenscroft? Ravenscroft? Ah yes, I have it. Worcester. Cathedral. Lost book. Missing librarian. A year or so ago. Nasty business if I recall. Well my dear lady, a missing girl you say? That changes everything. Indeed. Do please take a seat. You must tell me all about it,’ said the man vigorously brushing away a gathering of papers that littered the seat of an old wooden chair.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Lucy encouraged by the other’s interest.

  ‘Now if you would kindly pause a moment, Mrs Ravenscroft, whilst I secure pen and paper. The name is Shorter. Clement Shorter. Editor, reporter, printer, advertising manager, and proprietor of the Droitwich Advertiser at your service,’ said the newspaperman wiping an ink stained hand on his leather apron, before extending it in Lucy’s direction. ‘I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am.’

  ‘And I yours, Mister Shorter,’ replied a relieved Lucy, as her hand was vigorously shaken by the newspaperman.

  ‘Disappearing girl you say? In Droitwich? Surprised I have not been informed before. Local story you say? Not much happens in Droitwich of a dramatic nature. This will interest our readers greatly. If we are very quick and industrious, I am sure we could include it in this week’s issue. That gardening item wasn’t of a particular interest anyway. It will not be missed. Never been able to understand why people are so interested in their gardens. If one is fully occupied, there is no time for a garden, I say. Cannot see the point in them. You have a garden, Mrs Ravenscroft? No? Very sensible. Gardens — a complete waste of time and effort. Alas, hardly a month goes by in the spring and summer when I can avoid a visit to some dreary flower show or other. I would avoid it if I could, but people expect it of one. Improves the sales of the newspaper if they purchase that week’s copy in order to see their name in print — “Mr Jones was the winner of the prize marrow category; Mrs Brown’s floral display exceeded all expectations”. Mundane to say the least,’ sighed Shorter returning to his desk.

  ‘Mr Shorter, it is not my husband’s case that has bought me here today,’ interrupted Lucy.

  ‘Oh my dear Mrs Ravenscroft, I hope you are not going to disappoint me? It has been such a long time since the Droitwich Advertiser has been able to report anything of great criminal interest. Ah here we are!’ exclaimed the newspaper man suddenly holding a pen and paper up high. ‘That which is lost has been found! The errant sheep returns to the fold, as they say.’

  ‘I’m afraid I cannot tell you anything about the disappearance, because I know very little about it. As I said, my husband is occupied in investigating the case, and I have come here today on an entirely different errand,’ said Lucy anxious to turn the conversation away from her husband’s activities.

  ‘I see. What a pity,’ muttered Shorter looking somewhat crestfallen as he fell back into his seat. ‘Another hope dashed! Another avenue closed! Such a promising expectation now demoted to the file labelled “great stories that might have been”. That is a shame, my dear Mrs Ravenscroft, a great shame.’

  ‘It is a matter of some importance concerning an advertisement that was placed in your paper some months ago,’ said Lucy trying to sound encouraging. ‘The advertisement was placed by a lady of the name Huddlestone, who was seeking to adopt a young infant to bring up as her own.’

  ‘Advertisement you say? This enquiry of yours is of a police nature?’ asked the newspaper editor, raising his eyebrows as he leaned forwards in his seat.

  ‘It may well turn out to be a police matter, Mr Shorter.’

  ‘Well you should have said earlier! Police matter you say. Perhaps one’s expectations are not dashed after all. Advertisement placed by one Huddlestone,’ said Shorter rising enthusiastically from his chair. ‘Seeking child to acquire as her own, you say. Placed a few months ago. Could you perhaps be more precise as to the date, Mrs Ravenscroft?’

  ‘I believe the advertisement may have been placed around October of last year.’

  ‘Last October you say. Let me see,’ said Shorter striding over to a nearby bookcase and energetically turning over a large pile of newspapers. ‘Yes, here we are. This file should contain last autumn’s papers. We should be able to find what you are looking for.’

  ‘Can I be of any assistance?’ asked Lucy.

  ‘Nothing to concern you, my dear lady,’ replied the editor brushing aside a pile of papers and books on his desk, before banging down the file of newspapers on to the dusty surface. ‘Advertisement in the name of Huddlestone. Now where are my glasses? Eyes not so good as they once were. Always losing them. Must be here somewhere. Confound it! Perhaps I left them in the other room?’

  ‘I believe your spectacles are to be found on top of your head Mr Shorter,’ said Lucy trying to sound helpful.

  ‘My head?’ said Shorter looking perplexed.

  ‘Your spectacles, on top of your head,’ repeated Lucy pointing.

  ‘Head? Yes of course. How silly of me. Must have placed them there earlier. Such a nuisance, but an essential nuisance I grant you. Now let me see. First week in October. Anything there?’ said the editor replacing the glasses on the end of his nose, before turning over the first few pages of the issue on top of the pile, and running his finger down one of the pages. ‘Man seeking lost dog. Women’s Christian Association Monthly Meeting, Liver Pills. Droitwich Temperance. Mundane all of it! Mundane! No, nothing there I’m afraid. Let us try the following week. I am sure we will find it there somewhere. Huddlestone you say? Ah, here we are. “Lady mourning for the sudden loss of her own infant child, offers good home and upbringing for unwanted child. Name of Huddlestone.” How very sad, very sad, and how very Christian. Therein lies a story, no doubt.’

  ‘Does the advertisement give an address, or any further details?’ asked Lucy rising from her seat and crossing over eagerly to where the newspaper man stood.

  ‘Box Number!’ pronounced Shorter.

  ‘Box Number. What does that mean?’

  ‘It means that anyone who wishes to reply to the advertisement should write a letter to the box number stated, care of this newspaper.’

  ‘And what would happen next?’

  ‘Well, we usually wait a few days, to see if there are a number of replies, then we forward them all on to the person who placed the advertisement, and that is the end of the matter as far as we are concerned. It is then up to the advertiser and those who have replied to correspond with one another, should they so wish.’

  ‘It seems rather a long drawn-out process,’ said Lucy. ‘Why shouldn’t advertisers give their own addresses in the first place?’

  ‘Privacy. Privacy, my dear Mrs Ravenscroft. Some of our readers and advertisers wish to conduct their affairs in a discreet and personal manner. Why, to give one’s own address in the public domain, is to open one not only to social ridicule, but also to every kind of theft and skulduggery. Believe me my dear lady when I tell you that the world is full of those who are more than anxious to take advantage of another’s good intentions,’ pronounced Shorter shaking his head.

  ‘I see. Tell me Mr Shorter, do you still have the address of the person who placed this advertisement,’ asked Lucy hopefully.

  ‘Highly unlikely — but not impossible,’ replied Shorter peering over the top of his spectacles in Lucy’s direction.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, we usually retain advertisers’ addresses for a few weeks or so, so that we can forward the replies onto them — then I’m afraid we usually discard them, that is if we are fortunate enough to find them again.’

  ‘You say “we”. I was given to understand that the enterprise was entirely your own?’

  ‘Why, yes indeed. I use the term ‘we’ out of professional familiarity. It sounds so much better to suggest that there are more than one of us — but alas there is only my poor presence here to keep the fires of the free press in Droitwich burning brightly in this world of dar
kened skies of mediocrity and ignorance,’ replied Shorter looking downcast.

  ‘I am sorry for it,’ said Lucy sympathetically. ‘You must find your work arduous and lonely?’

  ‘At times, my dear lady, but then there are always people calling upon one with snippets of news which they consider may be of interest to our readers, people placing advertisements, people like yourself making enquiries, people wanting you to attend their meetings or flower shows, people wanting to provide interviews. In fact, when I come to think of it, there is never a dull moment. There is always the paper to be produced, once every week. Time, as I said earlier my dear Mrs Ravenscroft, can be the enemy, always seeking to undermine one with its relentless march ever onwards, unless of course it can be mastered to one’s personal will. No, one is never lonely. There is always Clarence for company.’

  ‘Clarence?’ asked Lucy intrigued.

  ‘Clarence. You may well have encountered him on the stairs as you came in.’

  ‘Oh, yes, the cat.’

  ‘Clarence, such a good example of the frustrating feline fraternity — indifferent to one’s feelings one minute, inspirational the next. You have a cat, Mrs Ravenscroft? No I think not. Such contradictory creatures. Useful for preserving the papers from the ravages of the mice — such spiritual creatures, but Clarence can be quite unsettling at other times.’

  ‘Do you think it may be possible for you to find the address of the advertiser?’ asked Lucy anxious to steer the conversation back to the matter in hand.

  ‘Who knows, Mrs Ravenscroft, who knows?’ replied Shorter throwing his arms wide. ‘Pray look around you ma’am. Somewhere in this room there may be a scrap of small paper which may provide us with the information you are looking for — but where to begin? Where to begin? Here you see around you the accumulated knowledge of the last twenty years of the Droitwich Advertiser. You see my dilemma?’

  ‘I do indeed,’ said Lucy sighing.

  ‘Somewhere in the dark recesses of this room, hidden between a thousand sheets of ancient newsprint may be the precious item which we seek. But then, of course, it may not be there at all. Cast out into the wilderness weeks ago with items of a similar disposition. All I can offer you is the distant hope that the item under discussion may present itself when one is least expecting it. That is all I can say.’

  ‘I see,’ said Lucy looking downcast, realizing that her mission was facing failure.

  ‘If you would care to leave me your address, I will certainly forward the information onto you, should it come to light.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘If you would be so kind as to write on this piece of paper.’

  Lucy took the pen and wrote out her name and address, but without any degree of conviction, knowing that in all probability her piece of paper would befall the same fate as the Huddlestone item.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Ravenscroft. Never fear, I shall safeguard your information with the utmost care, and will contact you the moment the missing item comes to life.’

  ‘Tell me, Mr Shorter. I don’t suppose you happen to know how many people replied to the advertisement?’

  ‘Ah, I do indeed. Two — to be precise!’

  ‘How do you know that?’ asked Lucy startled by this sudden disclosure.

  ‘See here,’ said Shorter proudly pointing to the advertisement in the newspaper. ‘See those pencil marks. We — I — always make a record by the side of an advertisement when it receives a reply. Two marks mean two people replied.’

  ‘I’m impressed,’ said Lucy smiling. ‘I wonder if it would be possible for you to tell me the names of those two people?’

  ‘Ah, now you are asking a very difficult question.’

  ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘Two replies,’ muttered Shorter casting his eyes upwards at the ceiling of the room.

  Lucy stood in silence, not wishing the disturb the editor’s thoughts.

  ‘Two replies. Unfortunately I cannot help you, alas. I believe the replies were enclosed within envelopes to be forwarded, with the box number and address of the newspaper written on the outer envelope.’

  ‘I see,’ said Lucy trying not to sound too disappointed. ‘Thank you, Mr Shorter, you have been most helpful. If you are able to find the address of Mrs Huddlestone then I would be most grateful if you would contact me. There is a distressed mother waiting for news of the child she unfortunately gave away. Anyway, I will not take up any more of your precious time.’

  ‘Gave away her baby you say. Gave away her baby. Where have I read those words before. Yes of course! One moment, please, Mrs Ravenscroft,’ said Shorter eagerly turning over a few copies of the newspaper.

  Lucy came nearer, wondering what item of information was about to be revealed by the newspaper man.

  ‘Yes, yes, I have it. Local girl commits suicide!’ said Shorter reading from a page. ‘Distressed state of mind, after loss of her only child!’

  ‘Good heavens, how terrible!’ exclaimed Lucy.

  ‘“The inquest was held at The Raven Inn, last Wednesday morning, concerning the apparent suicide of one Belinda Parkes, age 18, formerly employed as a housemaid at Hill Court, Dodderhill, Droitwich. George Richardson, a local bargeman, stated that he had discovered the body of a young woman in the canal near Crutch Lane, the previous Thursday morning. He pulled the body from the waterway and was able to identify the young woman as Belinda Parkes, as both he and the deceased had been former members of the congregation of Dodderhill Church. Mrs Greenway, cook at Hill Court, stated that the deceased woman had been of unsettled mind for the past week or more. Apparently she had given birth to an illegitimate child three months previously, but shortly after its birth had given up the child for adoption. She had become anxious regarding the welfare of her infant, and had become increasingly distressed when she had been unable to visit her child. The Coroner recorded a verdict of death by suicide.”’

  ‘How awful!’ said Lucy turning away, bringing a hand towards her face, and seeking to control the tears of sadness that began to form in her eyes.

  ‘My dear Mrs Ravenscroft, please do accept a chair. I would not have read this article out loud, had I considered that it would in any way distress you. I hope you are not related in any way to the deceased?’

  ‘No, not at all. It is just that another young lady, of similar misfortune, visited me yesterday, and recounted how she had replied to the advertisement in your newspaper — and how she had given away her only child to this Mrs Huddlestone,’ said Lucy blurting out the words.

  ‘I see, how sad,’ sympathized Shorter.

  ‘And when she sought to visit her child, she discovered that both the woman and child were not living at the address she had been given.’

  ‘Dear me,’ said Shorter shaking his head. ‘It would seem that this Belinda Parkes had also replied to the same advertisement, and that the same misfortune had clearly befallen her.’

  ‘Mr Shorter, if you will excuse me. Thank you once again for your assistance,’ said Lucy forcing back the tears as she walked quickly out of the room.

  ‘My dear Mrs Ravenscroft, please stay until—’ began Shorter, but his visitor had already made her way down the long flight of steps, and had disappeared from view.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DROITWICH

  ‘Well, Tom. Have we any news?’

  It was later that same day, and Ravenscroft and Crabb met once again outside the church of St. Augustine at Dodderhill.

  ‘Nothing sir. None of the lock keepers report anything unusual. Just the usual barges going up and down the canal with their cargoes,’ replied Crabb.

  ‘How far is it until the Droitwich canal joins the Worcester–Birmingham canal?’

  ‘No more than two or three miles until you get to Hanbury Wharf, I believe. After that the boats either turn north to Stoke Works and Tardebigge on their way to Birmingham, or south towards Worcester.’

  ‘So whoever abducted Miss Chilton could be anywhere with her by now. What I don’t u
nderstand is why anyone would have taken her in the first place. The family have received no calls for money for her return,’ replied Ravenscroft deep in thought.

  ‘It is certainly a strange case, sir,’ added Crabb.

  ‘Yes, and since your departure Tom, the case has taken a new direction. I believe I mentioned to you that Mrs Ravenscroft was attempting to discover what had happened to a young child which had been given away by her mother. Well, today she visited the local newspaper office here in the town, where she learnt that a few months ago a young housemaid by the name of Belinda Parkes had likewise given her baby away in reply to an advertisement.’

  ‘What is the connection to our present case, sir?’

  ‘Nothing, or so I thought, until I learnt that the housemaid came from Hill Court, and furthermore she was so overcome by not being able to recover her baby that she committed suicide.’

  ‘Poor girl,’ sympathized Crabb.

  ‘At first I had not thought that all these cases were connected, but now that I have learnt that the maid worked at Hill Court, I am not so sure.’

  ‘What shall we do next then, sir.’

  ‘Let’s go and have a word with Mrs Greenway, the cook. Apparently she gave evidence at the girl’s inquest.’

  * * *

  ‘Ah! If it isn’t Mister Ravenscroft again,’ said the cook rising from her seat at the table as the two men walked into the kitchens of Hill Court.

  ‘Good day to you Mrs Greenway, and to you Mister Jukes,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘This is Constable Crabb.’

  ‘Sit yourselves down gentlemen, whilst I makes you a cup of tea,’ smiled Mrs Greenway.

  ‘Nothing for me, I thank you,’ replied Ravenscroft accepting the chair.

  ‘Your constable looks as though he could do with something to eat. Why don’t you try a slice of my home made fruit cake?’

  ‘Thank you. I don’t mind if I do,’ said Crabb accepting the other chair.