by Kerry Tombs
‘It was just as we supposed. I have just been talking with the parlour maid who works in that house over there, a Ruth Weston, who apparently resides in the same lodging house as our friend Evelyn. She describes him as being a very lonely man of regular habits, who entertained no one, and who kept very much to himself.’
‘Seems to confirm very much what the dean and the choirmaster said.’
‘We need to find out where the librarian went to that night, after he left the cathedral. I took a walk along the towpath this morning, and I am convinced that when he went down the steps, he turned left and made his way in the direction of the canal. There is an inn on the way, where he might have met someone. I want you to spend the morning interviewing people at the inn to see if they saw anything that night.’
‘Right, sir.’
‘Then I want you to go further along the towpath, to where the river and the canal join. If there are any barges there, interview the occupants — see if they saw anything on the night he disappeared. Then meet me back here at one o’clock.’
‘Yes, sir. And where will you be?’
‘I think it is about time I called on Dr Silas Renfrew, to find out more about this missing book. Perhaps he might be able to tell us more about Nicholas Evelyn, and why he suddenly chose to steal the Whisperie.’
INTERLUDE
LONDON
‘You appear to have done well, Monk,’ said the woman in black, leaning forward in the darkness, straining to catch a glance of the man from beyond the candle.
‘It was not difficult. I just had to wait my time. I knew she would be easy,’ replied the voice in a dry, matter-of-fact tone.
‘You made sure that no one saw you?’ she asked anxiously.
‘I would not be sitting here now, had I not been so careful,’ he retorted.
‘I am sorry. I should not have questioned your ability in this matter,’ she said quickly, anxious not to cause offence. ‘Tell me how it was done?’
‘Bucks Row; it was dark. She was easy. I held her head back against the wall, then I drew the blade across her throat,’ he said without emotion.
‘The papers said you slashed her stomach?’
‘You object to my methods?’
‘No, of course not; that wretched woman deserved to die,’ she replied bitterly. ‘Tell me, did she cry out, or express any words of remorse before she died?’
‘Women like that know nothing of remorse. I squeezed her throat; looked into her eyes and saw the fear there; she had no chance to speak.’
‘I see. I would have liked some atonement,’ she said, sadly.
‘The woman must have hurt you a great deal,’ he stated.
‘I told you there were to be no questions regarding my motives in this concern,’ she said quickly, becoming annoyed by his enquiries. ‘It is enough for you to know that the woman gravely wronged my family sometime in the past. Now she has paid the ultimate price. You have kept your side of the bargain. That is all I could have asked for. Now, I will fulfil my obligation. Here are the twenty sovereigns we agreed upon.’
She placed the small bag of coins down on the table, expecting a hand to emerge from the darkness of the room to take up the reward.
‘You do not count the coins?’ she asked presently, wondering why he had not taken it.
‘I have no cause to doubt your word. I trust our arrangement. There is only one thing that concerns me.’
‘Ask.’
‘You addressed me as Monk. That is not my name.’
‘I would not expect you to go by your real name,’ she said.
‘It is a name of convenience,’ he laughed.
‘I know what it is like to assume another identity, to slip unnoticed into the shadows, to observe, and yet not be seen.’
‘You must never ask who I am, or ask to see my face, if our work is to continue.’
‘That is agreed,’ she replied, observing the determination and threat within his voice.
‘I prefer the dark. You need have no fear that anyone will ever see me. The police are stupid; they will never catch me. I have a number of disguises — and I know the alleyways and backstreets better than any of them. I will always be long away, before they even discover my handiwork. I am well aware of your inner desires, my dear lady. I know your secret and true purpose. There will be no betrayal on my part.’
She found something both frightening and reassuring about the coldness and precision of his voice.
‘But should you ever attempt to see my features, discover my true identity, or even try to follow me, you will know that our arrangement will end, and that I will take all available steps to protect myself. It will be as though you had never lived. No one will have known of your existence. I trust I make myself clear on this point?’
‘Of course, your identity is of little concern to me,’ she replied, growing concerned by the increasing anger in his voice.
‘Then we are two of a kind. You seek to conceal your identity beneath your veil, whilst I prefer the darkness of the shadows. You and I are in great need of each other.’ He paused for a moment. ‘You said there would be others?’
‘I have the name of your next victim.’
‘She is of the same tendency?’ he asked.
‘Yes, she is a common prostitute. Her name is Chapman. Annie Chapman.’
‘And where is this Chapman to be found?’
‘She usually resides at Crossinghams — when she has earned enough from her casual encounters, to pay for her bed for the night. It is a cheap lodging house. You will find it situated in Dorset Street.’
‘I know of the place. I must congratulate you upon your research,’ he replied, a note of sarcasm creeping into his voice.
‘I do not need your words of false encouragement,’ she said.
‘The sum will increase this time,’ he said suddenly, ignoring her last remark.
‘Of course, I will pay you forty sovereigns when you have carried out the deed. I trust that is a satisfactory arrangement?’
‘It will suffice.’
‘This time I will pay you an extra ten sovereigns, if you can carry out an additional service,’ she said, slowly sensing his greed, and drawing closer to the candle, so that she could almost feel the warmth of its solitary flame.
‘Go on.’
‘I would have her rings. Bring me her rings, as a keepsake, and I will reward you with the extra money.’ She was beginning to find the room and the darkness oppressive, and wished the interview would end.
‘It will be done.’
‘We will need to meet afterwards. I will be away from London for the next ten days. I have business to attend to,’ she said, rising quickly from her chair.
‘That is understood. We will meet here at the same time exactly, in two weeks.’
‘That will give you enough time?’ she enquired.
‘More than enough. No doubt the newspapers will keep you informed of my success.’
‘Then I wish you good night.’ She turned and made her way towards the door.
‘Enjoy your stay in the countryside. They say that Worcester is pleasant at this time of the year.’
She opened the door, and quietly left the room, betraying nothing.
The solitary light, swinging in the evening breeze, guided her way down the steps and across the courtyard. Her desire now was to leave the area as soon as possible, now that the arrangements had been made, and to return once more to her other world.
But why had he mentioned Worcester? How could he have known? She had been so careful to give nothing away — and yet….
CHAPTER FIVE
WORCESTER
Ravenscroft alighted from the cab at the end of the drive, and gazed up at the house before him.
‘Shall I wait for you, sir?’ enquired the cabman.
‘No. Thank you. I will make my own way back,’ replied Ravenscroft, paying his fare.
‘Right you are, sir.’
He watched as the cab turned and bega
n its return journey down the London road towards the centre of Worcester, before making his way up the drive. The house certainly looked imposing with its long, fine, wrought-iron veranda and matching white balconies, and its sweeping views across its lawns. He drew back the large knocker and struck the door, hearing the echoes from inside the building.
‘Yes?’ enquired a tall, well-built man with a swarthy complexion.
‘I would like to speak with Dr Silas Renfrew.’
‘And who are a you?’ replied the speaker, in what Ravenscroft judged to be an Italian accent.
‘I am Inspector Samuel Ravenscroft. If you would be so kind my man, I would be obliged if you would present my card to your master.’
The man glared at Ravenscroft, then took the card and stared down at it, as if trying to make out the letters there. Ravenscroft coughed, and shuffled his feet impatiently.
‘You, a’wait here,’ replied the servant eventually, before closing the door abruptly in Ravenscroft’s face.
A sudden noise made him turn. A large peacock was making its way across the lawn, its fine plumage displayed behind him.
The door reopened. ‘My master will a’see you, now,’ said the Italian, indicating that Ravenscroft should enter the building.
He stepped inside and found himself in a large hall. As he stood on the black and white tiled floor, he looked across at the large marble statue of a naked man which stood on a plinth at the bottom of a winding staircase.
‘David. Very fine, I think you will agree. Florentine; fifteenth century. One of only two known examples of the artist’s work concerning this subject,’ said a voice emerging from one of the rooms.
‘It is certainly impressive,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Oh, Inspector, it is far more than that. But let me introduce myself. Doctor Silas Renfrew, a refugee from your late forlorn colony,’ said the American owner of the voice, smiling and extending a hand.
‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance, sir,’ said Ravenscroft, feeling his hand being shaken vigorously in a tight, encompassing grip. He had expected the antiquary to have been much older, perhaps reserved and eccentric in manner, whereas the man who now addressed him appeared to be not much older than himself, was of a well-kept appearance and possessed an outgoing personality.
‘Would you care to follow me into the library, Inspector? Can I offer you a whisky — or of course, you English prefer tea.’
‘Nothing for me, sir, thank you.’
‘That will be all, Georgio,’ said Renfrew opening the double doors of a room at the rear of the hall.
The manservant gave a slight bow, before giving Ravenscroft a suspicious glance as he left the room.
‘Do come in, Inspector.’
Ravenscroft found himself in what was evidently the library, for three sides of the room were entirely covered from floor to ceiling with rows of books. He also observed a large oak desk covered with yet more books and piles of papers. A number of glass cabinets were situated at various intervals on what appeared to be an ornate, eastern, hand-woven carpet. Doctor Silas Renfrew was obviously a man who placed a high value on the accumulation of knowledge.
‘Please take a seat,’ said the American indicating one of two comfortable old leather armchairs which had been placed before the open fireplace. ‘I’m afraid you will have to take me as you find me.’
Ravenscroft nodded and seated himself.
‘I knew, of course, that it would only be a matter of time before you arrived,’ said Renfrew exhibiting a slow, methodical drawl.
‘Then you know, sir, that we are investigating the disappearance of both the librarian, and the Whisperie from the library of Worcester Cathedral. I believe you know the work, sir.’
‘I do indeed, Inspector; one of the finest books in the cathedral library.’
‘Perhaps you would be so kind as to tell me more about the work.’
‘Written around the time of King John’s death in 1216, by an unidentified monk, and highly decorated with rich ornate initial lettering. A work of unique splendour, full of wonderful rumours and whispers concerning the death of the late king, hence its title — the Whisperie,’ said Renfrew with enthusiasm, as he took the other seat.
‘What value would you place upon it?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘My dear Inspector, some works are so unique that it is almost impossible to estimate their value.’
‘And the Whisperie would fall into that category?’
‘Almost certainly.’
‘Would I be correct in assuming that it would only be a collector, such as yourself, who would be interested in purchasing such a work, should it ever be offered on the open market?’
‘Undoubtedly. No self-respecting museum would wish to be implicated in the theft of such an item — but if you are suggesting that I might be tempted to purchase the work should it be offered to me by the thief, then my answer would be no. I would have no desire to tarnish my reputation.’
‘But other collectors, perhaps, would be less circumspect?’
Renfrew said nothing, but merely shrugged his shoulders.
‘I understand that you were in the habit of visiting the cathedral library. Why was that, sir?’
‘There are many fine medieval works in the collection, and as a scholar as well as a collector, I often had recourse to consult several of the items there. It is my ambition eventually to publish the definitive work on English early medieval church documents.’
‘I see,’ replied Ravenscroft. Clearly Renfrew was out to impress him with his learning. ‘You no doubt consulted the Whisperie.’
‘Of course; many times in fact. As I said before, Inspector, the work is unique. It will feature highly in my book.’
‘No one has approached you yet, sir, offering the book for sale?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘And if such an offer were to be made?’
‘I would purchase the book, inform yourself of the identification of the culprit, and then return it to its rightful place in the cathedral.’
Ravenscroft was beginning to find Renfrew’s smile and casual manner somewhat disconcerting. ‘Tell me about the librarian?’ he asked.
‘Nicholas Evelyn.’
‘You spoke to him a great deal?’
‘He was not a man with whom one could easily converse.’
‘Could you elaborate further, Mr Renfrew?’
‘I found him accommodating enough. Apparently he had worked in the library for over forty years. His knowledge of the collection was extensive. His conversation however, was very limited. He never went out of his way to enquire into the nature of my research, and seemed to prefer the sanctuary of his own desk, to sharing the fruits of my findings with me. In fact, I always had the impression that he rather resented me being there. He struck me as being rather possessive about the collection.’
‘Did he ever mention the Whisperie, in general conversation?’
‘No. I don’t believe he did.’
‘Can you think of any reason why he would have stolen the book?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘No. I cannot, Inspector — unless he was paid to do so.’
‘Oh, why do you say that, sir?’
‘People generally steal for one of two reasons: either to profit by the theft by selling their gains on to a third party, or because they want to keep the item for their exclusive use.’
‘And which of these two categories would Evelyn have fallen into?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Evelyn does not seem the kind of man who would fall into the first group, but I cannot see any reason why he would want to take the book for himself to enjoy alone. After all, he could see it every day of his working life. Have you considered the possibility that someone else took the book?’
‘We keep an open mind, sir,’ said Ravenscroft, becoming a little annoyed by his host’s methodical, well-thought-out, answers.
‘We must all do that, Inspector.’
‘You never mixed socially with E
velyn outside his work, perhaps visiting his lodging?’
‘Why would I need to do that, Inspector? But no, I never saw him outside his place of work. I did suggest to him once, however, that he might like to come up here and view my collection.’
‘And did he ever take you up on your offer?’
‘No. A great pity. I think he would have found the collection interesting. I never mentioned it again — after his lack of interest, that is.’
‘I have to tell you that Evelyn is dead. We recovered his body from the river yesterday,’ said Ravenscroft suddenly, hoping that such a disclosure might penetrate the other’s certainty.
‘I suppose that was always a probability,’ replied Renfrew, showing no emotion.
‘Why do you say that, sir?’
‘If the man had taken the book, then he might well have been acting for another — and that other person could have killed him.’
‘You would have made a fine detective, sir. There was no sign of the book upon his person.’
‘Then it is to be hoped that it is not lying at the bottom of the River Severn,’ smiled Renfrew.
‘Tell me, sir, how long have you lived in Worcester?’ asked Ravenscroft, changing the subject.
‘Three years.’
‘You live here alone?’
‘Except for my manservant, Georgio — he tends to all my needs — and my cook. I find that a French cook is one of life’s great essentials.’
‘And why did you choose Worcester?’
‘Because of the collection, at the cathedral, for my research,’ smiled Renfrew again.
‘Of course. Well, I won’t take up any more of your time. You have been most helpful. If anyone should approach you concerning the book, I would be obliged if you would contact me straight away,’ said Ravenscroft rising to his feet.
‘Certainly, Inspector. I am sorry I could not have been of more assistance to you. But I would be negligent in my duty as a host, if I did not show you some of my favourite treasures before you leave. I can see Inspector Ravenscroft that you are a man who appreciates fine art, if I am not mistaken.’
