by Kerry Tombs
‘I was rather hoping that I might be allowed to have my breakfast first.’
‘Not until you return, sir. Doctor Mountcourt’s orders.’
Ravenscroft thought he detected a slight sadistic tone in the military man’s voice. The others left the room, leaving him to dress as quickly as he could. The sooner he journeyed to the well house and back, the quicker he could partake of some food.
Leaving the Tudor, he crossed over the road and walked up a flight of steps that presently bought him onto a narrow path. He turned around and as he looked down on the town, he could just make out the outline of the church through the morning mist. A sign indicated that he was to turn upwards, and he soon found that his footsteps took him to the base of another winding path, which seemed to stretch for ever upwards into the distance.
He began to make his way slowly up, the path growing ever steeper the further he ascended. Soon he felt his chest tightening and was forced to rest on one of the wooden benches at the side until he recovered his breath.
He struggled to his feet and looked upwards. Tendrils of morning mist still clung to the sides of the hills. He realised he had not encountered anyone else on his journey and wondered why. Gradually he could see the outline of what appeared to be a building of some kind ahead of him. As he drew near, he saw that it was a small octagonal structure situated in a clearing, nestling between two rising hills. A babbling spring cut through the scene and down the slopes.
A lone figure seemed to be awaiting his arrival.
‘Good morning to you, sir, can I be of assistance to you?’
The speaker was an old woman, who was neatly dressed, wearing a shawl and apron.
‘My name is Ravenscroft. I was told to take the waters here.’
‘Ah, yes, sir. I have been expecting you. You are staying at the Tudor. Doctor Mountcourt has left instructions that you are to drink three containers of the waters.’
She dipped one of the beakers into the flowing spring and handed it to him.
The fresh, cold water was reviving, and he soon drained the glass. The old woman smiled and replenished it.
A few seats were situated to one side of the well house. He made his way across to one of them, welcoming the opportunity of being able to sit quietly.
Yet as he looked across to the other side of the clearing, he suddenly became aware of another’s presence. Sitting on one of the benches was a woman dressed entirely in black. He had not seen anyone at the well house when he had first arrived. The woman must have been inside the building at the time. She seemed familiar to him. He studied the veiled lady without drawing notice to himself. Then he placed her: she was the same person who had shared his train compartment the day before. He wondered why she had visited the well house, unattended, and at such an early hour.
Not wishing to disturb her, he gazed back down the path he had just climbed. When he sneaked another glance, he discovered she had risen from her seat and was leaving the well house. He half stood in surprise, then checked himself. Chasing after her might cause alarm. Instead he lowered himself uneasily back into his seat and watched the black figure make its way slowly down the path, until she disappeared from view and was no more.
Ravenscroft reproached himself for his uncertainty. He should have addressed the widow when he had first noticed her presence at the well. He wondered whether another opportunity might present itself during his stay.
His stomach suddenly gnawed with hunger. He quickly downed his second and third beakers of spring water, gave the elderly attendant a coin and began his descent back towards the town.
* * *
The meagre breakfast at the Tudor did little to satisfy his hunger. Determined to find something more substantial to eat, Ravenscroft decided that he would take the opportunity to explore the town.
Following along the road outside his hotel, he soon found himself on a terrace that overlooked Great Malvern. After walking past a large boarding house with extensive gardens, he passed the local wine cellars, the Malvern and Worcestershire Bank, the local Oddfellows Hall, and one or two shops, until he reached a large building situated on the corner of the road. A sign stated that he had arrived at the Malvern Library and Reading Rooms. He pushed open the door and entered the building.
‘Good morning to you, sir, would you like to avail yourself of our facilities?’ asked a smartly attired gentleman.
Ravenscroft said that he would, and his host led him into to a large room furnished with tables, chairs and bookcases.
‘Perhaps you would care to read the morning papers, sir? We also serve coffee, if you so wish?’
‘I would indeed like to read the morning papers, and a cup of your coffee would be very welcome.’
The gentleman bowed, then handed Ravenscroft a newspaper. Five minutes later he returned with a cup of steaming coffee and a piping hot muffin oozing butter, on a silver tray. Ravenscroft breathed a sign of relief and reached out to take them. There was evidently more to Malvern than cold baths and arduous walks.
‘You are staying at the Tudor, I believe?’ asked the librarian.
‘Yes — but how did you know that?’
‘Malvern is a very small town, sir. I believe I might have caught sight of you leaving the building earlier this morning. I presumed you might also be hungry, sir,’ he said, gesturing to the plate.
Ravenscroft took an enormous bite and nodded gratefully.
‘Will that be all, sir?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
The librarian gave another bow and returned to his station.
An hour later, Ravenscroft left the Reading Rooms feeling rested and refreshed. He made his way down the steep road towards the Priory Church. Here a boy in a patched jacket insisted on showing him the various medieval tiles, fine windows and interesting carvings that adorned the building.
Giving the young guide a coin for his troubles, Ravenscroft consulted his pocket watch and realised that his next treatment at the Tudor would begin within the hour. He made his way across the churchyard and up the steps that lead to the top part of the town. When he paused at the summit to regain his breath, he looked up and saw a familiar figure entering the doorway of the Malvern and Worcestershire Bank. Clearly Mr Jabez Pitzer had business to attend to there.
Back at the Tudor, Ravenscroft changed into his dressing gown and lay down on his bed. After a few minutes he felt his eyes beginning to grow heavy, as his mind played over the events of the past few days. He again saw himself running along the narrow streets of Whitechapel, the black cloak billowing in the distance. Then the garment gradually seemed to turn into the black dress of the veiled lady; and the noise of a clattering train in his mind began to mingle with the sounds of running water and shallow breathing.
* * *
A sudden loud knock on the door, made him wake with a start.
‘Time for yer next treatment, Mr Ravenscroft,’ called out Stebbins from the other side of the door. Ravenscroft rose from his bed. What kind of torture was he to experience now, he wondered.
He followed the cheery youth along the numerous corridors and flights of stairs of the Tudor, until they reached the Bath House.
‘Good afternoon, sir, are we ready to continue our treatment?’
There was something about the attendant’s brisk, military no-nonsense approach that Ravenscroft was beginning to dislike. He looked down at the bath of water. At least there was steam rising from it this time.
‘Now, sir, you will oblige me by stepping into the bath.’
Ravenscroft complied with the request. ‘Good God, man, it’s scorching!’ he exclaimed.
‘You may find it a little warm at first, sir, but your body will soon adjust itself to the heat. The temperature has been laid down exactly by Doctor Mountcourt.’
He gave the attendant a black look, and then lowered himself slowly into the waters.
‘There you are, sir. Not so bad, is it?’
The man was insufferable, but Ravenscroft realised he
now had little choice but to clench his teeth and try to put the extreme heat out of his mind.
He laid his head back against the rim, and after a few minutes, during which the attendant busied himself in another part of the room, he could almost begin to relax in the scalding waters.
‘Now, sir, we’ll just add another jug of water,’ said the attendant pouring the boiling contents of the vessel into the bath.
Ravenscroft cursed the man under his breath and vowed that this was positively the last time he would undergo this torture. Beneath the surface of the water, his body was turning a bright red colour. He raised his arm to wipe the beads of perspiration away from his brow.
At long last, he was instructed to step out of the bath and, after replacing his robe, was escorted back to his room, where Stebbins and the attendant again busied themselves in wrapping his body tightly with thick sheets.
As he lay on his bed feeling the sweat slick beneath the confines of the bindings, he resolved that in the morning he would announce his immediate departure from Malvern and the Tudor Hydropathic Establishment and escape towards the more soothing pleasures of Brighton — but before then, there was that matter of a dinner engagement to be fulfilled.
* * *
Later that evening, Ravenscroft took the cab that Stebbins had arranged for him and set off in the direction of Malvern Wells. The cab drove him past several fine buildings, before which a lamp lighter was busying himself with his work. The ornate iron lanterns cast pockets of light on either side of the road. Then the road opened out into open countryside. Ravenscroft could make out the contours of a large hill on his right, whereas the land on his left sloped gently away into the far distance. Small isolated gleams of light could be seen shining out from the interiors of the houses, which appeared to cling perilously to the sides of the hills.
Suddenly his driver swung the cab round to their left and they travelled up a long driveway towards a large imposing house.
‘Pitzers!’ announced the man, bringing the vehicle to a halt.
Ravenscroft alighted from the cab and, after giving his driver some coins, he pulled the wrought-iron bell handle at the side of the door. As the light from the cab disappeared into the gloom, he could hear the sound of the bell ringing from inside the building.
‘Good evening, sir,’ said a young woman, as she answered the door. ‘You must be Mr Ravenscroft.’
He stepped into the hallway and handed his coat and hat to the maid. ‘If you would care to follow me, sir, I will tell Mrs Pitzer that you have arrived.’
Ravenscroft admired the fine furniture and paintings, as the maid lead the way across the hall.
‘Mr Ravenscroft, madam,’ announced the maid, ushering Ravenscroft into the drawing room.
‘Mr Ravenscroft, so good of you to come and join us.’ The speaker was a tall elderly lady, elegantly attired in a blue velvet evening gown.
‘It was very good of your husband to invite me, especially as I only made his acquaintance yesterday.’
His hostess smiled indulgently. ‘My husband is detained at the moment on urgent business but will join us presently. May I introduce you to our two other guests? Mr Sommersby is the Assistant Master at our fine Malvern College, and the Reverend Touchmore is the vicar of our splendid Priory Church in Great Malvern.’
Ravenscroft shook hands with both men. The former was an elderly gentleman of slender build, with a pair of pince-nez perched upon his long, thin nose; the latter a well-built and bald gentleman whose red face sported an expansive set of side whiskers.
‘So, Mr Ravenscroft, how do you find our town?’ asked Touchmore, resuming his seat.
‘I find it well, sir, what little I have seen of it.’
‘You must visit our Priory Church.’
‘I did so today, sir. One of your guides was kind enough to show me around the interior. I found it a most interesting building.’
‘You are here to undertake the water cure, I believe? May I ask where you are residing?’ asked the cleric brushing an imaginary hair from one of his trouser legs.
‘I am staying at the Tudor.’
‘An admirable choice, if I may say so. Doctor Mountcourt has only been at the Tudor for three years but has already built up a significant reputation. I am sure you will be most comfortable there. We accommodate many esteemed visitors who come to Malvern to take the waters.’
‘You live in London, sir?’ interjected Sommersby, leaning forwards in his seat, and peering over his pince-nez at Ravenscroft. ‘And what line of work are you engaged in?’
‘I am engaged in work in the City,’ replied Ravenscroft carefully, beginning to think that perhaps he had been unwise to have accepted the dinner invitation. He had no wish to reveal he was an inspector.
‘The City! I have had the misfortune of finding myself in the metropolis on a number of occasions and have always been glad of my safe return to Malvern,’ said his questioner in a dry tone.
Ravenscroft moved uneasily in his seat, sensing that the two men had decided that their new arrival was of little interest.
‘We must consider at our next meeting how we are to raise the requisite funds for the improvements to the church roof,’ said Sommersby, turning towards the clergyman and Mrs Pitzer.
‘I must confess that the problem has caused me a number of unsettled nights,’ replied Touchmore. Mrs Pitzer nodded sympathetically.
Ravenscroft took the opportunity of being ignored to sit back in his chair and study the room. An upright piano was to be found in one corner of the room, the top of which was adorned with framed photographs of his host and hostess. There were paintings of rural rustic scenes on the walls and a large quantity of leather-bound volumes in the tall, wooden bookcases. It all suggested that Jabez Pitzer was a man of conservative and refined taste.
‘We hope that Mr Pitzer will be able to present the prizes for us at the college at the end of term.’ Sommersby was speaking to his hostess.
‘I am sure that my husband will be delighted.’
‘He must be a busy man these days, my dear lady. We all expect him to be elected mayor quite soon,’ said Touchmore.
Their conversation was interrupted by the opening of the door.
‘Please, ma’am. Cook says dinner will be served in five minutes,’ announced the maid, standing in the doorway.
‘Thank you, Susan. Would you be so good as to inform the master? He should still be in the study.’
‘Very well, ma’am.’
The maid closed the door behind her.
‘That must be for the council to decide,’ said Mrs Pitzer addressing the cleric.
‘I’m sure you will have no problems on that account. Mr Pitzer has done most valuable service to the town and its inhabitants over the past twenty or thirty years, and it is only his just reward that he should be recommended by the members of our council for the highest position in Malvern. And I might add, my dear lady, that you will make an admirable mayoress.’
Ravenscroft was beginning to find his mind wandering on to other matters when suddenly the door was thrown open.
‘Ma’am, something terrible has happened! It’s the master!’ cried the maid, in some distress.
‘Calm yourself, Susan. Whatever is the matter?’
‘The master — I think, I think — he’s dead!’
Sommersby was already on his feet and rushed from the room, quickly joined by Touchmore. Ravenscroft and Mrs Pitzer followed them across the hallway and into the study.
‘Touchmore, see to Mrs Pitzer,’ instructed Sommersby as he leaned over the desk. Ravenscroft saw their host slumped in his chair, his head and outstretched hand lying across the desk in front of him. ‘It looks as though poor Pitzer has had a stroke or a seizure of some kind.’
‘Is he—’ began Touchmore.
‘I’m afraid he’s dead,’ announced Sommersby, shaking his head, after taking Pitzer’s hand and feeling his pulse.
Mrs Pitzer let out a sob.
‘Susan
, take your mistress quickly into the drawing room. Touchmore, go and fetch Gladwyn,’ instructed Sommersby.
‘Come now, ma’am,’ said the maid, as she and her mistress left the room.
‘Should we not call for the local constabulary?’ broached Ravenscroft, casting a glance around the study.
‘Whatever for, man? Poor Pitzer has clearly had a seizure. Anyone can see that. There is little the police can do,’ said Sommersby, clearly becoming annoyed that anyone should question his authority.
‘Nevertheless, I do think—’ began Ravenscroft, but he was cut short by Touchmore.
‘I think our guest is correct. There is a correct procedure to be followed, Sommersby.’
The schoolmaster glared at the clergyman. ‘Oh, very well then, have it your own way, Touchmore. You go and inform the constabulary, and I will go and fetch Doctor Gladwyn. Perhaps our guest would attend to Mrs Pitzer?’
‘Of course,’ replied Ravenscroft.
The three men walked out of the room, Sommersby closing the door behind them. As the other two men left the house, Ravenscroft made his way into the drawing room where he found a distressed Mrs Pitzer being comforted by her maid.
‘I am so sorry that this has happened during your visit to our household, Mr Ravenscroft,’ said his hostess, looking up.
‘My dear lady, do not worry on my account. I am only sorry your husband has been taken from us. Mrs Pitzer, I’m afraid I must enquire: did he receive any visitors in his study this evening?’
‘No. No. But why do you ask?’
‘It is no matter. Might I suggest that your maid escort you to your room? I will await the return of the others and can inform you of anything of importance.’
‘Thank you, Mr Ravenscroft. You are most kind.’
Mrs Pitzer and her maid left the room. Ravenscroft waited for a few moments, before making his way back to the study. Walking over to the desk, he knelt by the side of the dead man and examined the contents of his pockets but found little of interest. He glanced at the top of the desk, which was empty except for the usual writing materials and an open diary. Ravenscroft looked down at the day’s entry, which read, Seven thirty. Touchmore, Sommersby and Ravenscroft for dinner.
