by Kerry Tombs
‘I find that question rather offensive, Inspector. Mr Pitzer was not the kind of man to engage in extramarital affairs. He was utterly devoted to his wife,’ replied Gladwyn, annoyed.
‘Can I turn to other matters now? We have heard that Mr Pitzer played a prominent role in the affairs of the town.’
‘That is so. We served together on a number of committees which benefited the local community.’
‘Was the trusteeship of Old Lechmere’s Almshouses one of them?’
‘Yes, both Mr Pitzer and I were trustees, but I don’t see the relevance of all this,’ replied Gladwyn, a puzzled expression on his face.
‘I believe that Mr Pitzer and Mr Armitage did not agree on a number of matters regarding the almshouses?’ suggested Ravenscroft.
‘I don’t think they particularly liked one another.’
‘The Reverend Touchmore says there were certain financial irregularities concerning the finances of the almshouses.’
‘I was not aware that was the case.’
‘You cannot recall any disagreement, concerning the accounts, between the trustees and Mr Armitage?’
‘None that I recall. Look, Inspector, I have been quite patient with your questioning, but I’m afraid I must insist that we now conclude this discussion. I do have patients that require my most urgent attention.’
‘Thank you, Doctor Gladwyn. We won’t take up any more of your busy time,’ said Ravenscroft, rising from his seat.
‘I’ll get my maid to see you out,’ said Gladwyn, ringing a bell on his desk.
‘One final question, Doctor Gladwyn — yesterday evening, did you have cause to visit Mr Pitzer, before Mr Sommersby summoned you to the house?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘No. I have not visited Pitzer’s house for several weeks now. Show these gentlemen out,’ said Gladwyn, addressing the maid.
‘Where were you between six and seven yesterday evening, sir?’
‘I was here, with my wife.’
‘Thank you, sir, we wish you good day.’
Ravenscroft and Crabb made their way out of the house and climbed back into their cab.
‘Good to be out in the fresh air again, sir,’ said Crabb, taking a deep breath.
‘Doctors’ waiting rooms are often like that,’ replied Ravenscroft mounting the cab.
‘Doctor Gladwyn was not particularly forthcoming.’
‘On the contrary, whereas the Reverend Touchmore speaks of irregularities in the accounts of the almshouses, it appears that Doctor Gladwyn was not aware that there were any. One of the two men is lying, unless of course one of them has a short memory. Either way, it would appear more and more likely that those almshouses might well have played an important role in Pitzer’s death.’
‘You think we should return there tomorrow?’
‘Perhaps.’
The cab made its way back along the drive, but as the vehicle turned into the roadway, the driver suddenly pulled up the horse, throwing the policemen back into their seats.
‘There, boy! Steady! Easy does it. Look out, you fool!’ shouted their driver.
The cause of the horse’s fright was a tall, bearded, elderly figure who had been walking straight in front of its path.
‘I think the poor man is blind!’ cried out Ravenscroft.
The man in question was simply dressed, wearing a pair of old trousers, and a shirt and waistcoat under a torn, open overcoat. He was staring out vacantly ahead of him and mumbling something under his breath.
‘Out of the way there!’ shouted the driver.
The man swore something under his breath, before moving quickly away down the road.
‘Poor fellow,’ remarked Crabb, as the cab resumed its journey.
‘Strange, but I seemed to think I caught sight of the same man loitering on the other side of the road, just when we arrived at Gladwyn’s house,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Shall I go after him, sir?’
‘No. He was in all probability some vagrant on the lookout for his next meal.’
‘I’ll ask the station to keep a look out for him. Those types can often be up to no good. Where would you like to go next, sir?’
‘I think it is time we ate. I don’t know about you, Constable, but I have an increasing hunger, and have not had a decent meal since I arrived in this town. Perhaps you could recommend somewhere, Crabb, where we might procure a chop or two. The fare at the Tudor is meagre and uneatable, the surroundings dull, and the company almost non-existent.’
‘I think I can suggest somewhere which I hope will be to your liking, sir. Cabbie, take us to Westminster Road, if you will.’
* * *
Ten minutes later Ravenscroft found himself alighting from the cab outside a small white cottage, situated along a narrow road, which looked down onto the main road to the Wells.
‘You certainly have a magnificent view from up here,’ he said, looking across the open countryside.
Crabb paid their driver and the cab trotted off. ‘If you would care to follow me, sir, I’m sure my Jennie will be pleased to meet you,’ he said opening the gate.
‘You’re a dark fellow, Crabb. I was not aware that you were married.’
Crabb smiled, opened the front door of the cottage and indicated that Ravenscroft should step inside.
‘Ah, there you are, Jennie my dear. This is Mr Ravenscroft.’
‘Mr Ravenscroft. My Tom has told me all about you. It is a pleasure to meet you, sir.’ The speaker was a thin, rosy-cheeked woman, of homely appearance, who curtsied as they entered the tiny room. Ravenscroft estimated her to be around twenty years of age and knew straight away that he would like her.
‘I said that Mr Ravenscroft would be welcome to share our meal with us, especially as I know that you always cook more than enough, my dear.’
‘My dear Mrs Crabb, this is frightfully unjust of your husband to suddenly impose me upon you,’ said Ravenscroft, shaking her hand.
‘We would be delighted of your company, sir. Tom is quite correct when he says I always cook too much. He often chides me, saying that he will be twice the size he is now by the time he is thirty, if I carries on the same way,’ she laughed. ‘You are more than welcome, sir.’
‘That is most kind of you,’ replied Ravenscroft.
‘Well, sir. If you would like to give me your coat, and then sit at the table, I’ll get us a drink,’ said Crabb.
Ravenscroft looked around the welcoming room, with its neat, tidy furnishings and the warm fire that glowed in the hearth. Jennie disappeared into the kitchen, as Crabb poured out two mugs of ale from an earthenware pitcher. ‘There you are, sir. Taste that and tell me what you think.’
‘Uncommonly good and certainly welcome after all our travels today. Have you been married long?’
‘Just six months, sir.’
‘And how did you come to be here at Malvern? I thought you were bought up on a farm near Evesham?’ asked Ravenscroft, sitting back in his chair.
‘Indeed I was, sir. But our farm did not provide enough work for the two of us, so my elder brother took over the farm when my father died three years ago and he now runs it with my mother. I saw a job going with the Evesham constabulary and applied and worked there for a while. Then I married my Jennie, and they said there was this police cottage here at Malvern Wells, so we moved here just four months ago.’
‘Malvern seems a strange place, full of doctors and water cure patients,’ said Ravenscroft, taking another mouthful of his ale.
‘Very stuck in its ways, sir, is Malvern. Very conservative it is in all respects, and the same group of people — Pitzer, Touchmore, Sommersby, Gladwyn and their friends — seem to run everything. Nothing much seems to happen here, until now of course with this murder. I am only thankful that you were on that train, sir, as I don’t think I could have conducted a murder inquiry on my own.’
‘I’m sure you would have managed.’
‘’Tis certainly a strange affair, no mistaking it, sir. Everyone sa
ys that Pitzer didn’t have any enemies, yet our reverend gentleman says that Pitzer had had a disagreement with this Armitage fellow over the accounts.’
‘Now, Tom, put your police talk on one side, while we have our meal,’ said Jennie, returning from the kitchen, carrying a large steaming saucepan, which she set down upon the table.
‘You are quite right, Mrs Crabb, we policemen have a habit of taking our cases home with us. My, that smells incredibly good,’ said Ravenscroft, leaning forwards.
‘My Jennie makes the best mutton stew in the whole of Malvern,’ said Crabb, hastily tucking a napkin under his necktie.
‘Only Malvern! Why, Tom Crabb, you said Worcestershire last week,’ laughed Jennie, ladling out the food into their bowls.
‘Nay, why stop at Worcestershire, when there is the whole of the county to be fed! Let Mr Ravenscroft be the judge of your fine dish.’
Ravenscroft took a forkful. ‘I swear,’ he declared, ‘this is the best thing I have eaten since I have been here in Malvern.’
Crabb gave his wife a wink.
‘Mr Ravenscroft is staying at the Tudor, my dear.’
‘Oh, you poor man, you must be quite starved!’
‘Doctor Mountcourt does not believe in providing generous helpings of food for his guests — he declares the frugal fare to be part of the treatment. What few patients there are, do not seem to be enjoying the experience. The place is quite miserable. But enough of the Tudor. This really is quite excellent, Mrs Crabb.’
‘Then you shall have some more, sir,’ said Jennie, ladling more of the mixture into Ravenscroft’s bowl.
‘I will certainly not refuse. Tell me, if I am not being impolite, how did you two meet?’ asked Ravenscroft, taking another mouthful of the warming food.
‘Jennie and I lived in the same village,’ said Crabb. ‘We went to the same school together. I always knew that she was the girl for me, although it took me a while to persuade her to marry me. But I tells you, Mr Ravenscroft, I have never regretted it. Not one day have I ever woken up and regretted my choice. She is the finest, most handsome, noblest woman for miles around—’
‘Stop! Tom, your embarrassing me,’ interrupted Jennie, looking down at her bowl and turning a bright red.
‘I admire your certainty and commitment,’ replied Ravenscroft.
‘And are you married, sir?’ asked Jennie.
‘Jennie my love, we should not ask our guests such questions,’ said Tom, reprimanding his wife.
‘I’m so sorry, sir, my inquisitive nature sometimes gets the better of me,’ said Jennie, looking crestfallen.
‘I do not mind answering. No. There is no Mrs Ravenscroft. There was someone some years ago with whom I formed a close attachment, but she went away before I could decide that I cared for her.’
‘That is very sad,’ said Jennie, looking across into Ravenscroft’s eyes.
‘Sometimes we realise that we have failed to make the best of the opportunities that are offered to us and it is only later — often much later — that we regret our lack of resolve.’
‘And what happened to her? If I may be so bold as to ask you, sir,’ enquired Jennie.
‘She went to Australia, and I never saw her again,’ replied Ravenscroft, turning away.
‘Perhaps she will come back one day?’ suggested Jennie.
‘I would doubt it. She is probably married by now and the mother of ten lively children. You should have children, Crabb. Malvern and its hills would be a fine place to bring up a family.’
‘Strange you should say that, sir—’ began Crabb, but his wife interrupted him.
‘Tom, please!’
‘I don’t care if I tells the whole world! My dearest Jennie is expecting our first child in six months’ time,’ said Crabb proudly.
‘That is splendid news. I do congratulate you both. I’m sure you will make admirable parents,’ said Ravenscroft, leaning across the table and shaking the hands of his host and hostess.
‘Thank you, sir,’ replied Jennie, going a deeper shade of red.
‘Your children will certainly be well fed! This is the best thing that has happened to me in this town since I arrived here. I have never tasted food as good as this, even in London,’ said Ravenscroft, emptying his bowl.
‘Stop, sir, you’re embarrassing me again,’ laughed Jennie.
They were suddenly interrupted by a banging on the front door.
‘If you will excuse me, sir, I’ll just go and see who that is,’ said Crabb, rising from the table.
‘Your husband enjoys his work?’ asked Ravenscroft. He could hear Crabb, talking to someone at the front door.
‘Tom enjoys being out and about,’ replied Jennie. ‘And yes, he likes his work, sir.’
Crabb returned to the room, studying a piece of paper, and looking very solemn.
‘Trouble, Crabb?’ enquired Ravenscroft, sensing that something was wrong.
‘A note, sir, delivered from Malvern College. It says we are to come straight away. It seems that Mr Sommersby has met with a fatal accident!’
CHAPTER FOUR
As Ravenscroft and Crabb made their way down the winding path that lead to Malvern College, they were overtaken by a trap that drew up sharply at the front entrance of the building.
‘It seems as though our Doctor Gladwyn has been sent for as well,’ said Crabb.
‘News travels fast,’ remarked Ravenscroft.
‘Good evening to you again, gentlemen,’ said Gladwyn, alighting from his trap. ‘Have you heard the news about Sommersby?’
The door was opened by the porter, who was clearly in an agitated state. ‘Thank goodness you gentlemen have come. Mr Sommersby seems to have met with a terrible accident. If you would all come this way.’
The porter led the way across the hall and down the cloister like corridor, until they reached the library. ‘I think perhaps you should enter first, gentlemen.’
‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed Gladwyn.
The floor was littered with books and Ravenscroft noticed that one of the large bookcases had been pulled to the side of the room.
‘Mr Sommersby must have been working in the library when one of the bookcases fell on top of him. We lifted the bookcase from off him, and placed it over there,’ said the porter.
Sommersby lay on his back, surrounded by the fallen books.
Gladwyn knelt to examine the body.
‘Have you moved the body at all?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘No. We naturally moved some of the books that were on top of him, to see if we could render him any assistance, but all to no avail.’
‘He must have been killed instantly by the force of the bookcase and the falling books,’ said Gladwyn.
‘The bookcase cannot have been very secure. He must have been reaching up for one of the books, when the bookcase toppled over,’ suggested Crabb.
‘The other bookcase, which is also in the centre of the room, looks pretty secure,’ said Ravenscroft, placing his hand on one of the shelves. ‘It would require quite a lot of force for the case to come down on one. On the other hand, if someone gave it a hard thrust from the other side, I have no doubt it would come down easily enough.’
‘Poor man, what a terrible accident to have happened. First Pitzer and now Sommersby.’ Gladwyn got to his feet and shook his head.
‘I don’t think it was an accident,’ said Ravenscroft, kneeling by the side of the deceased. ‘Look how the body is situated, on his back with his two arms at either side. It is almost as though the body had been arranged in this position before the bookcase was pushed over on top of him. If he had been placing a book on the shelf, and the case had begun to move suddenly, I believe Sommersby’s instant reaction would be either to move back quickly, or at least attempt to cover his head with his hands, or even turn away. I can see a line on the floor where the edge of the bookcase stood. Sommersby is far too close to the line. Whoever killed him tried to make it look like an accident.’
‘Good
heavens!’ exclaimed Gladwyn.
‘Look for his pince-nez, Crabb. They are not on his face. Again, if the bookcase fell on top of him, they would have broken the glasses and yet I cannot see them anywhere,’ said Ravenscroft. Crabb began to look around the room, searching through the piles of books on the floor as he did so.
‘Doctor Gladwyn, can we turn Sommersby over?’ asked Ravenscroft.
The two men moved Sommersby over so that his face lay to the floor.
‘Ah, it is just as I suspected. See at the back of his head. He had been hit by a hard instrument of some kind. That is what killed him.’
‘It could have been one of the books that hit him?’ suggested Gladwyn.
‘But the body was positioned on its back when we entered the room. It seems unlikely that after a falling book hit him on the head Sommersby would have turned around to face the rest of the falling books. If the first book hit him on the back of the head, he would have fallen in a different position.’
‘I suppose you could be correct, Inspector,’ replied Gladwyn somewhat grudgingly.
‘Ah, here we are, sir. I’ve found them on the floor over here,’ announced Crabb, holding up the glasses.
‘I think you would agree, Doctor Gladwyn, that the position of the glasses in the room is too far away from the body,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Sommersby could have taken them off, before he moved over to the bookcase,’ suggested Gladwyn.
‘And left them on the floor? I don’t think so.’ Ravenscroft knelt down on the floor and pushed the books to one side.
‘What are you looking for, sir?’ asked Crabb.
‘I’m examining the carpet to see — ah, here we are. Do you see, Crabb? Look at this patch of blood on the carpet. This was where Sommersby was killed. He was struck on the back of his head by a sharp instrument of some kind, fell to the floor where some of the blood from the wound stained the carpet. He was then dragged across the floor to the base of the bookcases, which were then toppled over on top of him to make it look like an accident.’
‘My word, sir!’ exclaimed Crabb. ‘Then it now seems that we now have two murders on our hands.’
‘It would appear so. Did you see Mr Sommersby enter the library?’ Ravenscroft addressed the porter.
