by Kerry Tombs
‘No, I usually retire at just after nine. My room is at the back of the house.’
‘So you would not have seen anyone, miss?’ asked Crabb, looking up from his notebook.
‘I have just said, Constable, that my bedroom does not face on to the cathedral,’ she replied firmly.
‘Was your father here that night, or in London?’ asked Ravenscroft, quickly giving Crabb a brief sideways glance.
‘He was here in the house. I believe he also retired, shortly after myself.’
‘And his room, Miss Griffiths, where is that located?’
‘My father’s bedroom is also at the rear of the house. He will probably only confirm what I have just told you. I don’t really see the point of any of these questions, Inspector.’
‘We have reason to believe, Miss Griffiths, that Mr Evelyn, the librarian, was killed that night, at approx twelve o’clock, and that whoever killed him was seen emerging from the cathedral dressed as a monk at around that time.’
‘I’m sorry for poor Mr Evelyn, but as I have told you, Inspector, we had both retired to bed earlier that night,’ replied Miss Griffiths, showing signs of irritation at Ravenscroft’s questions.
‘As you just said. I wonder if we might have a few words with your servants. They might have seen something that night, and be able to help us in our investigations,’ said Ravenscroft smiling, and seeking to placate the lady of the house.
‘I’m sure that will not be necessary. I will make enquiries myself and inform you of the results. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some important correspondence to attend to,’ said Miss Griffiths standing up and ringing the bell at the side of the fireplace.
‘I will also need to have a few words with your father,’ said Ravenscroft also rising to his feet.
‘I have told you, Inspector, that my father had retired early for the night. I cannot see what good it will do you to interview him. My father is a very busy man, and is generally fully engaged both here and when he is in London. I can answer any questions you may need to ask in the future.’
‘Well, thank you, Miss Griffiths,’ said Ravenscroft, realizing that his hostess was anxious that he should leave, and that there would be little point in trying to continue with the interview.
‘Sarah, would you show the inspector out,’ said Miss Griffiths addressing the maid who had entered room.
‘Good day to you,’ said Ravenscroft.
As the two men made their way across the hall, Ravenscroft observed that the door to the study was slightly ajar.
‘—I am sure, Mrs Marchmont, that we can be of assistance to you, in your affairs,’ said the voice of a man, whose back was to the door.
Ravenscroft caught a brief glimpse of a lady seated on a chair, as he passed by.
‘This way, sir,’ said the maid opening the front door.
Ravenscroft and Crabb made their way out of the building, and strode quickly across the Green.
‘My God, sir, you look as though you have just seen a ghost,’ said Crabb, hurrying to keep up with his superior.
‘I have Crabb. That woman in the study with Sir Arthur—’
‘Mrs Marchmont, he said.’
‘Mrs Marchmont. When I saw her in Malvern last year she went by another name. Her real name is Mrs Kelly!’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘Tell me about your Mrs Marchmont, or rather Mrs Kelly,’ asked Crabb, as the two men sat drinking ale later that night at The Old Diglis.
‘Well, Crabb, it’s a very sad business. You may recall when we were investigating those murders in Malvern last year, I told you that I had met a woman on the train, who was dressed entirely in black,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘She wore a veil over her face if I recall. Evidently a widow,’ interjected Crabb.
‘I discovered that both her husband and her young son had recently died and were buried in the churchyard at Malvern Priory. It was there that I met her one day, and eventually learned the sad fate of her family. Her husband had been used to travelling up to London for a few days each month, on business, and it transpired that he was rather prone to indulging in extra-marital activities with certain young women of the night in the Whitechapel area of London.’
‘That’s your area, is it not, sir?’
‘It is indeed. I know it well. The place is filled with villains of every age, race and sex. There are people there who would steal the very clothes off your back or, worse still, murder you in some dark alleyway if they thought you were carrying money on your person. To escape its miserable streets, to experience the civilized pastures of Malvern and Worcester is paradise indeed! But to return to our Mrs Kelly: after a while, her husband fell ill and eventually died, probably as the result of picking up some sexual disease from one of those loose women. By the time of his death, he had already passed on the disease to his wife, and then their new born son became ill, and she had to nurse him through a long and painful illness before he, too, died.’
‘Poor woman,’ muttered Crabb.
‘Indeed. To nurse a sick husband through months of illness is one thing, but to see a son die and not be able to do anything to relieve his suffering, must be an agony too hard to comprehend. I remember she was quite bitter about everything — and with good reason — and that she swore that one day she would seek her revenge on the women of Whitechapel for the wrongs they had committed. I tried to reason with her, but must confess I felt utterly at a loss what to say, and before I could speak she strode away from the churchyard suddenly and that might have been the last I saw of her, except for one further encounter.’
‘You saw her again? In Whitechapel?’
‘The day I left Malvern and returned to London, I remember l was just outside Paddington Station when suddenly a woman rode off in a cab after telling the man to take her to Whitechapel.’
‘And have you seen her since, in Whitechapel that is?’
‘No — and I must admit that I have not given her any more thought, until today, when I caught sight of her in the study of Sir Arthur Griffiths’ residence. I tell you, Crabb, it came as quite a shock to see her again, after all this time, and in the very house we were visiting.’
‘I wonder why she is now calling herself Mrs Marchmont?’ asked Crabb. ‘After all, you said her real name was Kelly.’
‘I have no idea,’ said Ravenscroft, taking another sip from the tankard.
‘Perhaps she has just changed her name, so that she can put the past behind her. Start a new life, like.’
‘Do you know, Crabb, I think you might be right. And if that is the case, then who are we to deny her that relief, after all she has suffered?’
‘You don’t think she is mixed up in any of this business at the cathedral, sir?’
‘Highly unlikely, I would think. What need would she have of a medieval book?’
‘What do you think she was doing at Sir Arthur Griffiths’ house?’
‘She was probably seeking his advice on some matter. He is, after all, the local Member of Parliament,’ replied Ravenscroft.
‘Begging your pardon, sir, but are you certain that it was this Mrs Kelly that you saw? It could have been someone else. After all, you did say she wore a veil most of the time that you saw her.’
‘That is true, but on our second encounter she did raise her veil and I saw her face quite clearly — and the bitterness engrained there. No, I am sure that she and Mrs Marchmont are the one and the same woman. Anyway, enough of our Mrs Kelly, we must be careful not to be deflected from our investigations. Be so good, Crabb, as to get us a refill for these tankards, and whilst you are over there ask the landlord if he would be so good as to join us.’
After exchanging a few words with the landlord at the bar, Crabb returned to Ravenscroft. ‘He says he will bring them over in a minute. What did you think of our Miss Griffiths then, sir?’
‘I am quite fascinated by her. She was very reserved; nervous even. I think she was very relieved when we left,’ said Ravenscroft.
/> ‘She seemed very protective towards her father, not letting us see him.’
‘I think we must insist on seeing Sir Arthur. He might have seen something that night. We cannot go on her assumption alone.’
‘Here we are, gentlemen. Two more tankards of our finest Worcester ale,’ said the landlord, placing the vessels down on the table before them.
‘And very good ale it is too, landlord,’ said Ravenscroft lifting one of the tankards to his mouth.
‘How can I help you, sir? Your colleague said you wanted to speak with me.’
‘Yes. We are investigating the disappearance of both the librarian, and a valuable book from the cathedral,’ began Ravenscroft.
‘Ah, I thought so. I told my wife as soon as you came in that you were the law.’
‘I had not thought we were so conspicuous, after me changing out of uniform and all,’ said Crabb.
‘On the night the librarian disappeared, we believe he made his way along the river-bank, just outside your premises. We were wondering whether you remember seeing him at all?’
‘I don’t remember seeing anyone out of the ordinary,’ replied the landlord.
‘Did Mr Evelyn ever come into the inn? He was an elderly gentleman, thin, grey hair, had a bit of a stoop, very retiring, kept very much to himself,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘No. Don’t recall seeing such a person. We gets mainly our locals in here. I’m sure I would have noticed anyone out of the ordinary.’
‘Thank you. You have been most helpful. One final question: did you happen to see anything or anyone falling into the river on the night the librarian disappeared — or perhaps heard a loud splash? Probably around twelve o’clock?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘I can’t say, sir. I’ll check with the wife, see if she heard anything. She has a far better memory than I have.’
‘Thank you, we would be most obliged.’
‘Seems as though we have drawn a blank there,’ said Crabb.
‘Evelyn must have met his attacker by the river, after placing the book in the hiding place in the old ruined building. I am more than ever convinced that Evelyn did not meet the person who was blackmailing him until his very end.’
‘Poor man.’
‘Look over there, Crabb. Do you see that rough fellow drinking at the other end of the bar? He seems to be consuming a great deal of liquor tonight,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘He could do with a shave and a good wash, if you ask me. Don’t like the look of that scar down the side of his face. Looks as though he came off the worse in some fight or other,’ said Crabb, taking a pull on his ale.
‘Probably just come off one of the barges. And here I think is our good landlord returning.’
‘Gentlemen, I have had a word with my wife. She swears she heard a loud splash in the river. Just after twelve, she thinks. She remembers taking a look out of the window, but she didn’t see anyone out there on the towpath and thought no more about it. We get lots of noises being near the river. Always something, or someone, falling in the water. We used to get quite alarmed when we came here fifteen years ago, but now we don’t take much notice.’
‘Thank you, landlord,’ said Ravenscroft.
The publican returned to the bar.
‘Where do we go from here, sir?’ asked Crabb.
‘To tell you the truth, I am at a loss, but one thing I am certain about is that there is a lot more for us to unearth about the cathedral and its inhabitants, before we can arrive at a solution to this case.’
‘Come on. Give us another tankard!’ shouted the man at the bar.
‘I think you have had more than enough for tonight, Billy,’ said the landlord, giving a sideways glance in the direction of the two policemen.
‘Who says I’ve had enough? I can pay. I’ve got plenty of money. Pour me one,’ continued the man, in a slurred voice.
‘I’ve told you, Billy, you’ve had your fair share tonight. Why don’t you go home and sleep it off?’
‘Don’t want to go home. Here’s a crown, another one I say!’
‘He’s not short of money,’ whispered Crabb.
‘Sorry, Billy, can’t do it. It’s more than my reputation at stake. Get yourself home, and take your money with you,’ said the landlord, again casting a glance in their direction.
‘Don’t you tell me to go home! Pour one for me, and for everyone here tonight!’ said the man, suddenly lunging forwards and grabbing the landlord’s shirt.
‘I think our landlord could do with some assistance. Time we intervened,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Leave him to me, sir. I’ll see him off,’ said Crabb, rising from his seat.
‘Give me a drink, or I’ll poke yer eyes out!’ growled the man.
‘Now then, Billy, leave off there,’ said Crabb, walking over to the bar and placing his hand on the other’s shoulder.
‘And who the devil might you be?’ said Billy, turning round and shaking off Crabb’s hand.
‘I’m Constable Crabb from the local constabulary. If you don’t leave off drinking this minute and take yourself home, I’ll have to arrest you and you’ll spend the rest of the night in the cells.’
‘Bugger you! You ain’t no peeler. You ain’t got no uniform on!’ growled Billy.
‘Watch your language, my fellow. Just pick up your money and go,’ instructed Crabb.
The man suddenly threw a punch at Crabb, who dodged quickly to one side, leaving his attacker to crash into one of the tables. ‘Come on. Get yourself home, or it’s the cells for you, my lad,’ said the policeman, in a firm voice.
Billy picked himself up off the floor, steadied himself and brushed the sleeve of his tattered jacket.
‘Best do as the policeman says, Billy. You come back tomorrow night and we’ll have a drink together then,’ said the landlord.
‘Right you are, captain,’ said Billy giving a mock salute. ‘Steady as she goes. I’ll be all right, captain. I’ve got my lady. She’ll see me all right.’
Ravenscroft smiled as the old sailor made his way out of the bar.
‘Sorry about that, sir. Don’t know what’s got into old Billy tonight. He’s usually well behaved. Seems to have come into some unexpected money,’ said the landlord straightening up the table.
‘Must be one of the hazards of your occupation,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Don’t I know it! Worcester isn’t a bad place, but some of the folks round here don’t know how to hold their liquor.’
‘Does Billy often come in here?’ asked Crabb.
‘He’s one of my regulars. He earns his money by transporting cargoes up and down the Severn in an old barge called the Mayfly. He’ll be all right in the morning, when he’s slept it off.’
‘Well, Crabb,’ said Ravenscroft standing up, ‘I think my bed at the Cardinal’s Hat calls, and I am sure that lovely wife of yours would like to see you back home. Meet me tomorrow morning at nine, and we will see what the new day brings.’
‘Good morning, sir.’
‘Good morning, landlord,’ said Ravenscroft about to take another sip of his coffee.
‘Perhaps you would like to read the morning paper, sir,’ said the landlord of the Cardinal’s Hat.
‘Thank you.’
‘Report of some terrible murder in London on the inside pages, might be of interest to you, sir.’
Ravenscroft opened the newspaper and began to read.
TERRIBLE MURDER IN EAST END OF LONDON
We have received reports from the London newspapers of a terrible outrage committed in the Whitechapel District of London. The victim has been identified as Annie Chapman, age 47, and is described as being about 5ft tall, of stout appearance, with dark wavy brown hair, blue eyes and thick nose. A member of the unfortunate classes, she frequented Crossingham’s Lodging-house in Dorset Street, prior to her murder.
The body was discovered by one John Davis, a carman employed in Leadenhall Market, at around 6.00 a.m. on the morning of 8 September, in the back yard of 29
Hanbury Street. He immediately raised some of his neighbours, and the local constable was quickly on the scene. We understand that the body was found lying on its back and that it had been severely mutilated. An inquest is to be held shortly.
This outrage is the second to have occurred recently in this area of London. Our readers may recall that on the 30 August last the body of Mary Ann Nichols was discovered in Bucks Row.
We are given to understand that the police are conducting enquiries and that a number of leads are being taken up. Earlier today . . .
‘Good morning, sir,’ interrupted a breathless Crabb entering the inn. ‘I think you best come straight away. Apparently your Ruth Weston has disappeared. She has not been seen at her lodgings for the past two days.’
The two men stood outside Glovers Lodging-house waiting for the owner to make her way to the door.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ said Mrs Glover peering through the small gap between the door and its surround.
‘My constable informs me that you sent a message to the police station regarding Miss Weston,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘We understand that she has not been seen for the past two days.’
‘Left me with the boy, she has. I don’t know what to do with him. He’s not my responsibility, is he? I suppose you had better come in then,’ muttered the landlady, opening the door wider, so that the two policemen were able to step into the hallway.
‘When did you last see Miss Weston?’ asked Crabb.
‘It were night before last. She went out, about ten, I think it was.’
‘Did she say where she was going at such a late hour?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘No, why should she? I don’t interfere in the lives of my lodgers, as long as they lead respectable lives. You best follow me into here then,’ said Mrs Glover pushing open a door at the end of the passage.
‘Thank you,’ said Ravenscroft, finding himself in a small room, where an old tattered armchair occupied the centre, and numerous china figures fought for every available inch on tops of tables and around the mantelpiece.
