by Kerry Tombs
‘Yes. Of course I read the item, and I did indeed mark it in the paper. I did have words with Pitzer about his being both a trustee and a director of the railway company, but he just assured me that the inmates would be taken care of.’
‘Did you believe his assurances? Your sister says you became very angry.’
‘No, I just thought that all he was interested in was making money. Money, Mr Ravenscroft, is what makes Malvern run. All that those there are interested in is making money, and whether it is taken from the water-cure patients or made from the building of new houses or railways, it makes no difference. Yes, I became bitter; bitter because a lot of good people were going to be made homeless in this obsession with money.’
Ravenscroft thought hard for a moment or two. Armitage had finally admitted his opposition towards the new railway company in general, and towards Pitzer in particular, but he now began to wonder whether such dislike could have led the warden to have committed the murders he was investigating. Perhaps his own desire to protect Lucy was arguing against such a possibility? But then if Armitage had not murdered Pitzer and his colleagues, then who had? Finally he turned to Armitage and addressed him. ‘Mr Armitage, your sister is in great need of you. She has been through a great deal. It was not easy for her to tell me of her situation. You are very close — and it is because of that I have decided to release you, for the present. However I must emphasise that you remain under grave suspicion of the murders of Pitzer, Sommersby, Gladwyn and Old Penny. When new evidence comes to light it may exonerate you from all implication and blame. I will only release you however, if you give me your solemn promise that you will not try to leave the area. You are to remain at either your sister’s or at the almshouses. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes. I thank you — and yes, you have my word, I will not leave the area,’ said Armitage, looking directly at Ravenscroft.
‘Good — and you and your sister need not concern yourselves anymore with Mr Troutbridge. I will make sure he will be of no further trouble to you. You are not, on any account, to go anywhere near him,’ said Ravenscroft standing up.
‘You will have my word, Inspector.’
The two men shook hands.
Ravenscroft led Armitage from the room and reunited him with his sister. ‘Miss Armitage, I am releasing your brother for the present, on condition that he resides either with you or at the almshouses,’ said Ravenscroft.
Lucy embraced her brother.
A few minutes later, Ravenscroft and Crabb escorted the brother and sister outside to the waiting cab.
‘Mr Ravenscroft — Samuel — I cannot thank you enough,’ said Lucy suddenly embracing Ravenscroft. ‘Oh, I am so sorry, I am embarrassing you,’ she said conscious that Crabb and her brother were watching, and quickly recovering her composure.
‘Take care of your sister, Mr Armitage,’ said Ravenscroft, helping Lucy to mount the cab.
‘You can be well assured on that point, Inspector,’ replied the warden.
As the cab turned onto the roadway, a perplexed Ravenscroft was left wondering if he had done the right thing in releasing Armitage — and whether he would ever see Lucy Armitage again.
CHAPTER NINE
Ravenscroft faced Troutbridge across the table, and the two men looked at one another in silence for some moments.
‘Now then, Troutbridge, you are in very serious trouble. We now know that you have been blackmailing Mr Armitage and his sister, and have been receiving regular payments for your silence. A totally reprehensible act, which is only befitting of the lowest dregs of our society,’ said Ravenscroft opening a folder of papers before him. ‘It is no good denying this — we know everything. Blackmail is a serious offence. The last person I put away for a crime similar to yours was given seven years hard labour. Add on the sentences for keeping a ferocious animal and letting that animal attack a police officer, and we are looking at a minimum sentence of fifteen years penal servitude. Do you know what that means, Troutbridge? Well, I will tell you. You will be on the treadmill for twelve hours a day, or breaking up stones out on the wilds of Dartmoor, or if you are fortunate enough, you may be unpicking hemp for up to fifteen hours a day until your hands are little more than bloody stumps. I have known fit grown men, physically stronger than you, who have been broken within three years; many of them did not survive and died in prison.’
He could see the look of fear spreading across Troutbridge’s face. He told himself that it would not be long before he had the farmer where he wanted him. ‘I don’t think you will ever come out of prison. Your farm will be seized and sold up, your animals slaughtered. Is this what you want?’
‘What do you think,’ answered the other, still with a note of defiance in his voice. ‘If you knows everything, what else do you want?’
‘What I am going to do is to offer you a way out from this terrible mess you have got yourself into.’
Ravenscroft could see the look of puzzlement working its way across Troutbridge’s face. He looked down at his papers, letting his prisoner sweat for some moments before he continued. ‘There is one way in which you can help yourself, and one way only.’
‘What? I’ll do anything,’ replied Troutbridge eagerly. Ravenscroft knew that he had netted his quarry.
‘First — you will repay all the money you have taken from Armitage.’
‘I don’t have it.’
‘Then you must find it. You have one week from today to deposit the full sum with my constable at this police station. If the money is not forthcoming, your file will be reopened and you will face trial on the three counts I listed a few moments ago. Secondly, you will swear never to approach either Mr Armitage or his sister ever again, and that you will never utter a word of what you know surrounding the birth of Miss Armitage’s son. Again, your file will be kept here, so that if there is any breach in this matter you will find yourself being rearrested and put on trial. Third, you have six months in which to sell your farm and leave the county. You must move at least one hundred miles away from Malvern. After six months I will inform my colleagues in the three counties that if they catch sight of you, you will be apprehended and sent to prison, straight away. These are my conditions. There will be no debate or questions asked. You either accept them now, or you will appear before the magistrates tomorrow morning.’
Ravenscroft closed his file and looked Troutbridge straight in the eye.
‘I suppose I don’t have a choice,’ muttered Troutbridge, turning away, anger still in his eyes.
‘That is where you are wrong. There is always a choice. It is up to us individually to see that we make the correct decisions. You have been offered a last chance to start anew, somewhere far away from here. You are a fortunate man. Tell me your answer now, or the offer will be withdrawn. I am a busy man,’ said Ravenscroft standing up suddenly, and indicating that the interview was at an end.
‘Damn you, Ravenscroft!’
‘And we will have less of that as well. So, Troutbridge, which is to be?’
‘I will accept your conditions,’ muttered a crestfallen Troutbridge.
‘Good. I will have Constable Crabb draw up your release papers.’
A few minutes later Ravenscroft and Crabb watched Troutbridge walk away from the station.
‘A blacker ruffian never lived on this earth,’ muttered Crabb.
Ravenscroft smiled. ‘I just took advantage of a situation that arose, and could not resist the temptation to make a great deal of money. Now you have the file under lock and key. In one week Troutbridge should reappear with the money he took from Armitage. That money is to be given back to Armitage, and you must see that it is returned into the account of the trustees of the almshouses.’
‘It will be done, sir.’
‘And you are also aware of the other conditions?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Then if they are broken, you know what to do with the file. Everything is written down there. At all costs, a lady’s honour must
be protected in this affair.’
‘By a lady, you mean Miss Lucy Armitage?’
‘I do. How is that hand of yours now, Crabb?’
‘Fine, sir, Jennie put some herbal liniment on it. It should be healed in a day or so.’
‘Good.’
‘Thank God you shot the animal in time, sir, I reckon he was just about to work his way up to my neck.’
‘I’m only sorry I was not quicker in despatching the creature. Now, Crabb, we have both had a long day, and you, in particular, have had an unpleasant experience. Tomorrow we must continue with our investigation. We may have arrived at the truth concerning Armitage and Troutbridge, but our killer is still out there, and we must redouble our efforts to bring him to book. As you live in the Wells, will you go back to Pitzer’s house first thing in the morning?’
‘Yes, sir. For what purpose?’
‘I want you to see if you can find Pitzer’s walking stick, and when you have found it, see if it matches the ones belonging to Sommersby and Gladwyn. If it does, ask Mrs Pitzer if she knows anything about the initials on the silver handle. Also bring the stick back with you. Then meet me in the churchyard at Great Malvern at ten o’clock.’
‘You still think that the walking sticks and their initials are of some importance?’ asked Crabb.
‘All through this case, we have been missing something. I am convinced that there are more secrets to be unearthed, and that the key to this mystery lies in the origin of those walking sticks.’
‘And if I don’t find such a stick, sir?’
‘Let us trust that you will — otherwise our investigations may be at an end.’
* * *
After eating a particularly unappetising meal at the Tudor, Ravenscroft was pleased to regain the sanctuary of his room. Lying on his bed, he became aware of how tired he had suddenly become. The events of the day began to run through his mind — the discovery of the walking stick at Gladwyn’s, the shooting of the dog at Troutbridge’s farm, the long questioning of Troutbridge and Armitage, the visit to Lucy Armitage in Ledbury and the disclosure of her secret. All this activity — and yet he had not yet made an arrest. The last thing he remembered before he fell asleep was the image of Lucy Armitage holding her child, and the face of her son smiling across at him.
‘Good morning, sir. It’s a beautiful day.’
Ravenscroft woke with a start. Then the awful realisation that he was still at the Tudor swept over him. ‘What time is it, Stebbins?’ he asked.
‘Seven o’clock, sir. It’s time for yer bath.’
‘No, Stebbins, not that again,’ replied Ravenscroft, turning over on his side.
‘Cheer up, sir. Look on the bright side.’
‘I cannot see one at present, Stebbins.’
‘Come now, sir, you will be all the better for it.’
‘That I doubt very much.’
Ravenscroft made his way towards the Bath House. He still felt tired, and he had to rub his eyes several times to clear the sleep from them. He could not believe that he was still at the Tudor, and worse still that he was stumbling half blind towards another infernal treatment, which he had little inclination to take. Would that he could solve the case, and so be free to leave the Tudor.
‘Good morning, sir. Glad to see you are fully recovered. We have missed you the last few days. Shall we continue, sir?’ said the bath attendant in his usual brisk manner.
Not caring anymore, Ravenscroft stepped into the bath and felt the heat burning into his bones. He lay back in the waters and closed his eyes, seeking to extinguish the present world from his thoughts. Just who had murdered Pitzer, Sommersby, Gladwyn and Old Penny — Armitage, Troutbridge, Touchmore, or some other person who at present was unknown to him? Armitage had said that money ruled the town. Was that what the murders had all been about? Money? Then there was the woman in black — I will know where to find you, she had said. What part did she play in all this? Were the murders somehow linked to the deaths of her husband and child? Then there were the walking sticks — and the initials M.W.B. What did they mean?
‘That will be all now, sir. You can return to your room, sir,’ echoed the voice of the attendant breaking into his thoughts.
‘No bandages today?’ he enquired, hope in his voice.
‘We’ll start again slowly tomorrow, sir.’
Thank God for that, thought Ravenscroft.
After dressing he decided to make his way up the winding path towards the well house, hoping that he might again see his lady of the black veil, but in that he was disappointed. As he drank the icy spring water, he looked out over the town and realised that this morning he had climbed all the way up to the well without either pausing or coughing. Perhaps the waters were beginning to make their contribution to the betterment of his physical condition, but there again, familiarity with his surroundings may have accounted for his improvement. His fresh vigour was matched by a strange feeling of optimism, which he found difficult to comprehend. Only a few minutes before, as he had lain in the steaming waters of the bath house, he had been plagued by thoughts of his own inadequacy, but now a new, unknown confidence was beginning to take root in his mind. He knew now that he and Crabb would shortly be unravelling the events of the past few days — and that the case would be drawing to its conclusion.
He thanked the attendant and after giving her a coin, made his way back down to the Tudor.
After breakfast, he rested for a while before making his way down to the churchyard. Had he half expected to find the veiled lady there? But she had said she would find him. Here he stood looking down at the grave, with its fresh flowers placed before the headstone.
Sacred to the memory of
Anthony Steward Kelly (1840–1886)
and
Mark Richard Kelly (1885–1887)
Always Remembered.
‘Good morning to you, sir.’
He turned to face Crabb.
‘Good morning, Crabb. Did you go to Pitzer’s?’
‘Yes, sir — and I have his stick.’
Ravenscroft took it in his hands and examined the handle. ‘Well done, Crabb — and look, the same initials arranged in the same way. Did you ask Mrs Pitzer if she knew anything about them?’
‘I did, sir, and like Mrs Gladwyn, she cannot remember when her husband first had the stick, or what the letters stand for. She did say though that she thought her husband had first had the stick a great number of years ago, possibly just after they arrived in the town.’
‘That is interesting. If only we knew what these initials stood for — M.W.B. — is it someone’s name, or the name of some body, club or society, to which the three men belonged? If only we could find that, we might have our murderer. There is something else that strikes me as being unusual about this case, Crabb. Do you realise that not one of our victims had any children to succeed them? Pitzer and his wife never had any children, Sommersby was unmarried and had no children, as far as we know, and Gladwyn mentions no children in his will. That is something else three of our victims had in common; Old Penny was just, I suspect, in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was almost as though Pitzer, Sommersby and Gladwyn had been killed because they had no one to succeed them, no one to come after them. Don’t you find that strange, Crabb?’
‘Yes, sir. It is usually the other way round. People sometimes are killed by their relatives so that they can inherit their money.’
‘Exactly! I’m sure though there is money behind this. The three men cannot have been killed out of some revenge motive. They seem to have led blameless lives. No, it has to be money. We have just got to find out what these initials stand for.’
‘Well, none of them had the initials M., W. or B. for their names, so it can’t be anything to do with their families.’
‘I think you are correct. M.W.B. What the devil do they stand for? You would think in a town like Malvern . . .’ said Ravenscroft, before stopping suddenly. Then: ‘Of course! The M. stands for Malvern!’
‘Could be, sir? After all, they all lived here for nearly thirty years or more.’
‘Good God, Crabb. How could we have been so blind! The answer is literally staring us in the face! It has been here under our noses all this time!’
‘I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand you,’ said a puzzled Crabb.
‘Look along the terrace, up there, at the top of the town. Tell me what you see. The buildings, what can you see, from the left?’ said an excited Ravenscroft.
‘Well, sir. First there is the boarding establishment, then the wine cellars, the bank, the Oddfellows Hall, the dress shop, the—’ recited Crabb.
‘Yes. Go back to the bank. What does it say above the bank?’
‘The Malvern and Worcestershire Bank.’
‘Precisely, the Malvern and Worcestershire Bank — that’s what the letters M.W.B. stand for! The B in the centre of the inscription on the stick stands for Bank and the intertwined M and W stand for Malvern and Worcestershire respectively. I remember now on my first morning here, I saw Pitzer going into the bank. It all makes sense. Each of our three victims was associated with the bank in some way.’
‘My word, sir, I think you’re right. And to think we passed it by every day and not realised,’ said Crabb.
‘Let us pay a visit to the bank and see what we can discover,’ said Ravenscroft, eagerly leading the way out of the churchyard.
The two men walked up the steps and crossed over the road to the bank. Crabb pushed open the heavy doors and the two men entered the building.
‘Can I help you, gentlemen?’ said a clerk from the other side of the counter.
‘We would like to speak with the manager, if you please,’ said Crabb.
‘Do you have an appointment, sir? Mr Chase is a busy man,’ replied the clerk, peering over his spectacles at the constable.
‘Would you tell Mr Chase that we are here on police business, and that we must speak with him urgently,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Of course, sir, if you will just wait a moment.’
The clerk vacated his position and entered one of the inner rooms.
