The Inspector Ravenscroft Mysteries Box Set

by Kerry Tombs

  He turned to study his travelling companions. Ravenscroft occupied the corner seat by the window. Next to him a young couple were looking fondly at each other, while talking in hushed tones. Next to them a lady, dressed entirely in black, evidently a widow, a veil covering her face, was occupied in some fine needlepoint. In the seat opposite him, a large elderly lady sat looking out at the passing scenery, her hands neatly folded in her lap. Next to her, a young boy was reading a book, accompanied by a middle-aged woman who Ravenscroft concluded was either his nurse or his mother. In the opposite corner of the carriage, an elderly grey-haired gentleman was deeply intent on reading his newspaper, occasionally writing down items in his notebook.

  Ravenscroft closed his eyes. There seemed little to engage his attention in regard to his fellow travellers. As he listened to the sound of the train running over the tracks, he found his mind returning to the events of earlier that week. If only he had been quicker, he would have caught the killer and been commended for his endeavour by his colleagues. But instead his wretched cough had slowed him down yet again, and the opportunity had been lost.

  He fell into an uneasy sleep, in which the sounds of the train, the occasional whisperings of the young couple and the turning of pages seemed to mingle with the noises of running feet, laughter and his own shortness of breath.

  ‘Oxford!’

  He awoke with a start to see that the train had stopped and that several of his travelling companions — the young couple, the elderly lady, the boy and his guardian — were busying themselves with leaving the compartment. Ravenscroft assisted the lady who had sat opposite him with her case onto the platform, and then settled down once more to read the remaining pages of his newspaper.

  As the train began to pull out of the station, the door of the compartment was suddenly flung open.

  ‘Begging your pardon for the intrusion, lady and gentlemen, I thought I was going to miss the train.’

  The new arrival was a young man of around twenty years of age, with a healthy, ruddy complexion and an easy-going manner.

  ‘No intrusion, I assure you,’ ventured Ravenscroft.

  The young man grinned and reached into his pocket of his jacket, from where he produced a small packet covered in brown paper.

  ‘Weather looks set fair for the next few days,’ said the new arrival, untying the string on his parcel.

  ‘I would hope so,’ replied Ravenscroft, turning away and looking out of the window.

  ‘Be bound for Malvern, I would say.’

  ‘How on earth do you—’ began Ravenscroft.

  ‘We gets lots of visitors on this train who are going to Malvern. Water cure, that’s what they go for. Think the water and all that fresh air will do them good.’ The young man bit into one of the large sandwiches that he had removed from his parcel.

  ‘And does it?’ asked Ravenscroft, becoming intrigued by his new travelling companion.

  ‘Not for me to say, sir. Not being in need of a cure, myself!’

  ‘And you, sir, are?’

  ‘I am a man of the soil! Born on a farm I was, and glad of it as well. Tom Crabb, at your service, sir.’

  ‘Samuel Ravenscroft.’

  The two men shook hands.

  ‘You from London then?’

  ‘You are correct in your assumption, sir — and yes, I am going to Malvern for the water cure.’

  ‘I knew it! As soon as I saw you, I thought, this gent looks a bit peaky and is off to Malvern for his health,’ said Crabb, leaning back in his seat and taking another mouthful of his sandwich. ‘And I wish you well of it, sir.’

  ‘I thank you, Master Crabb,’ smiled Ravenscroft, resuming his reading.

  The train continued on its way, the neat fields and hedgerows soon giving way to a more open, rugged countryside. The four occupants of the compartment continued with their various activities in silence.

  Presently the train slowed and made its way into another station, the sign announcing that they had arrived in the town of Evesham.

  The young man rose from his seat.

  ‘Well, Mr Ravenscroft, this is where I must leave you. Perhaps I might see you in Malvern during your stay.’

  ‘You never know, Master Crabb. We might well meet again.’

  ‘Good day to you, sir, I wish you well of Malvern’ — and with those words the young man was gone from the carriage.

  ‘Insufferable fellow!’ pronounced the elderly gentleman in the corner, speaking for the first time on their journey. Ravenscroft smiled politely and resumed his reading.

  Fifteen minutes later the train drew into Worcester station. Ravenscroft took out his pocket watch and sighed.

  ‘It can sometimes seem like a long journey,’ said the elderly gentleman breaking the silence. ‘I could not help hearing that you are travelling to Malvern. May I enquire where you will be staying?’

  ‘I have made a reservation at the Tudor Hydropathic Establishment.’

  ‘Ah, a good choice, my dear sir, if I may say so; you could not have done better. Doctor Mountcourt, the proprietor, is an acquaintance of mine. Mention my name and he will provide you with the greatest personal attention.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. And you are?’

  ‘Jabez Pitzer at your service, sir. A long-standing resident of Malvern Wells.’

  The two men shook hands.

  ‘Allow me to give you my card.’

  ‘I thank you, sir.’

  ‘I think you will like Malvern a great deal.’

  ‘I’m sure I will.’

  ‘Many of our visitors laud the water treatments and return time and again.’

  ‘The cure is not that effective, then?’ Ravenscroft replied light-heartedly.

  Pitzer smiled. ‘We have many good reports. Perhaps if you are free tomorrow evening you would care to dine with us?’

  ‘That is most kind of you, sir.’

  ‘Take a cab from Great Malvern. Everyone knows where we reside. My wife and I will expect you around seven thirty.’

  ‘That is most generous of you, sir.’

  The two men resumed the reading of their newspapers as the guard announced the departure of the train from Worcester station. As they travelled across the bridge which spanned the river, Ravenscroft turned to admire the view of the cathedral in the distance, and puzzled over why he had so readily accepted a dinner invitation from this man whom he scarcely knew.

  A few minutes later the train stopped again.

  ‘This is Malvern Link Station,’ announced Pitzer. ‘Your stop is at Great Malvern.’

  The woman with the dark veil rose from her seat.

  ‘Allow me to assist you, ma’am,’ said Ravenscroft, standing and reaching out for her bag from the rack above.

  ‘That will not be necessary, sir.’

  ‘But I insist.’

  She stepped onto the platform. Ravenscroft followed her with the bag and called out to one of the porters.

  ‘I thank you, sir,’ she said from behind the veil. He had expected a much older voice and wondered how it came that she had been widowed so young.

  He climbed back into the train and watched the veiled lady and the porter make their way out of the station.

  The train continued on its way, and Ravenscroft began to gain views of his approaching destination. A large hill towered upwards on his right-hand side, with a collection of fine buildings on its lower slopes. Shortly the guard announced that they had arrived at Great Malvern Station.

  As he lifted his bag down from the rack, his travelling companion leaned forwards, and said, ‘Until tomorrow evening, then.’

  ‘I look forward to it, sir.’

  The two men shook hands again and Ravenscroft alighted from the train.

  After admiring the brightly painted wrought-iron decorations that adorned the station platform, he handed his ticket to the guard and made his way outside to where he found a number of horse-drawn cabs waiting to collect the newly arrived passengers.

  ‘Where you
going, sir?’ asked one of the cabmen, reaching down for his bag.

  ‘The Tudor Hydropathic Establishment, if you please.’

  The driver nodded as Ravenscroft mounted the cab. The man cracked his whip and the vehicle set off at a brisk pace.

  Ravenscroft leaned back in his seat. Their journey took them gradually upwards along a wide tree-lined avenue, with individually styled, well-built houses on either side of the road. Clearly Malvern had done well out of the water cure, thought Ravenscroft. At the end of the avenue the cab swung sharply to the right, before climbing up another steep incline. Now they passed offices and shops, and then a fine medieval church. At the top of the incline, the cab veered abruptly to the left and climbed yet again, before finally coming to a halt outside a large early Victorian building. A hanging sign indicated that they had arrived at the Tudor Hydropathic Establishment.

  ‘Tudor, governor,’ said the man, steadying the horse.

  Ravenscroft paid the driver, took hold of his bag and made his way through the doors of the building. A clerk was writing at a desk in the entrance hall.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir.’

  ‘I believe you are expecting me. Samuel Ravenscroft.’

  ‘Ah, yes, sir. We received your telegram this morning. It is my pleasure to welcome you to the Tudor. Stebbins, will you show this gentleman to his room.’

  A youth, whom Ravenscroft judged to be no older than ten or twelve years of age, stepped forwards from out of the shadows, to claim his bag.

  ‘Doctor Mountcourt will see you at precisely four thirty this afternoon,’ announced the clerk, looking down at his ledger.

  ‘So soon?’

  The clerk looked up from his work and smiled. ‘Doctor Mountcourt always likes to see his patients as soon as possible following their arrival.’

  Ravenscroft followed the boy along the corridor.

  ‘Come from London?’ enquired the youth as they made their way up a flight of stairs.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Never bin there.’

  ‘You might not like it. London is not all that it appears to be.’

  ‘Got to be better than this place,’ sniffed the youth, coming to a halt outside one of the rooms.

  ‘After you, sir.’

  Ravenscroft stepped into the bedroom.

  ‘I’ll put yer case ’ere, sir.’

  He observed that the room was simply furnished — a bed, table, chair, wardrobe, washstand and basin.

  Stebbins coughed and shuffled his feet.

  ‘Oh yes, of course,’ he replied, taking a coin from his pocket and giving it to the young boy.

  ‘Thanking you most kindly, sir. I hopes you will enjoy your stay, though not many do. If there’s anythin’ I can do, like calling a cab, telling you where the best places are, then Stebbins is your man.’

  Ravenscroft smiled. ‘Thank you, Stebbins. I will try and remember.’

  The boy touched his head and left the room.

  Ravenscroft walked over to the window and looked out at the fine view, which stretched outwards from the lower slopes of the town and out across the ever-diminishing fields, until it reached another large hill in the far distance.

  He turned as the door suddenly opened and Stebbins reappeared once more.

  ‘Doctor Mountcourt, he ain’t believin’ in giving his guests much food. All part of the treatment. So if you gets hungry, at any time, you just have a quiet word with Stebbins ’ere. I’ll see you right. I won’t tell, if you don’t.’

  ‘Thank you, Stebbins. I will remember that.’

  The boy grinned and closed the door once more.

  Ravenscroft thought that life at Malvern and the Tudor might just prove interesting after all.

  CHAPTER ONE

  MALVERN 1887

  ‘Cough!’

  Ravenscroft obliged.

  ‘That is not good, my dear sir.’ The speaker was a middle-aged man of slender build and serious formal manner.

  ‘I’ve had the complaint since I was young.’

  ‘I can see that. Not helped by living in London. You should have come to us sooner.’

  ‘Then am I too late?’

  ‘It’s never too late, Mr Ravenscroft, but there is a lot to do. Plenty of brisk walks, a change of diet, remedial baths should all help. You could also do with losing a few pounds in weight as well. It appears that you have been most negligent in safeguarding your health. We must act quickly to halt the decline. I’ll have my assistant draw up a programme of treatment for you and have it delivered to your room this evening. We will commence the cure tomorrow.’

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Ravenscroft, feeling apprehensive.

  ‘I must emphasise, however, that the plan must be strictly adhered to. There must be no deviation from the course on your part either during the treatment or after your return to the capital, otherwise all the good work that we do here at the Tudor will be undone. I think I make myself clear on that point?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Ravenscroft looked away. He felt as though he was back at school.

  ‘Have you always had poor eyesight?’

  ‘Since I was young.’

  ‘I detect a slight tremor in your left hand. Does it concern you?’

  ‘Only when I feel nervous.’

  ‘You can get yourself dressed now. I will see you in three days’ time when I will expect to observe a marked improvement in your condition.’

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Ravenscroft somewhat meekly.

  ‘Good day to you, sir,’ — and with those words, Doctor Mountcourt, chief physician and proprietor of the Tudor Hydropathic Establishment, swept quickly outwards from the room.

  * * *

  The following morning Ravenscroft was awakened by a loud banging on the door of his bedroom. He reached for his pocket watch that lay on the table at the side of his bed and in the gloom of the room could just make out the time to be seven o’clock.

  Before he had time to consider turning over in his bed, the knocking was repeated and the door flung open.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Ravenscroft. It is time to commence yer treatment, sir.’

  ‘Go away, Stebbins. It’s only seven in the morning.’

  ‘We believes in an early start at the Tudor, sir.’ Stebbins was already drawing back the curtains, letting in the half-light of the early morning. ‘If you would care to follow me, sir, when you’re ready.’

  Ravenscroft, realising that it would be futile to argue, climbed out of bed, put on his slippers and his dressing gown over his night shirt, and followed the youth along the many dim corridors of the Tudor.

  Three floors below they arrived at a door, which bore the words Bath House on its exterior. Stebbins indicated that Ravenscroft was to enter.

  ‘A very good morning to you, sir.’ The speaker was a stocky, middle-aged man of military bearing. ‘Now, sir, you will oblige us by stepping into this bath.’

  Ravenscroft peered down into the bath and hesitated. The water looked decidedly cold.

  ‘You will soon get used to it, sir. No one likes it at first. Gently does it.’

  Ravenscroft removed his dressing gown and nightshirt, and stepped into the icy water. He gasped at the cold.

  ‘Now, sir, if you would care to sit in the bath.’

  A shivering Ravenscroft had no desire whatsoever to comply with this request.

  ‘Best get it over with, sir. You’ll feel a lot better afterwards,’ said the attendant, attempting to reassure his patient.

  Ravenscroft doubted whether that would indeed be the case, but gingerly lowered his body into the tub.

  ‘Good, sir. As I said, you’ll soon get used to it. Now I’ll just add a little more water,’ said the attendant, pouring more of the arctic liquid from a metal jug into the bath.

  ‘My God, man!’ exclaimed Ravenscroft. ‘Does it really have to be so damn cold?’

  ‘Doctor Mountcourt’s instructions, sir,’ replied the man in a firm voice.

  During the following ten
minutes, Ravenscroft shuddered in the freezing water thinking that he had never experienced such unpleasantness in all his life and wishing that he had ignored his superior and taken in the pleasures of Brighton instead.

  ‘Now, sir, if you could ease yourself out of the bath, we’ll rub you down and take you back to your room.’

  Ravenscroft, relieved to be allowed out of the bath, stood creaking with cold and reached for the outstretched towel.

  Five minutes later he found himself back in his room, but the treatment had apparently not yet been completed.

  ‘If you would care to stand by your bed, sir,’ instructed the attendant.

  Ravenscroft wondered what new torture was about to be inflicted upon him. Stebbins and the attendant produced a number of damp sheets which they proceeded to wind tightly round his body, before tipping him backwards onto his bed. He felt like one of the Egyptian mummies he had seen recently at the Kensington Museum.

  ‘If you would now remain there, sir, until we return.’

  What other choice did he have, he thought, wryly. His two tormentors left, leaving him with little to do but look up at the ceiling of his room.

  Gradually he began to feel his body recovering its warmth and his limbs slowly stopped shaking within the tightly bound sheets. He wondered what the point of that ghastly experience had been and whether he would have to go through with it every day during his stay. He felt a desperate urge to scratch the back of his left shoulder. Letting out a deep sigh, he closed his eyes and prayed that his jailers would soon return to bring an end to his ordeal. He closed his eyes. The events of three days previous now floated before him. If only he could have stopped that man.

  After what had seemed like an eternity, Stebbins and the attendant returned and unwound the sheets. He gave out a sigh of relief and suddenly realised that he had acquired quite an appetite.

  ‘Now then, sir, once you are dressed you are to make your way up to the well house at St Ann’s to partake of the waters,’ said the attendant.