by Kerry Tombs
‘Right, sir, I’m on my way.’
‘I’m going back to the cathedral to have another word with Brother Jonus. Meet me there later.’
Walking into the cathedral, Ravenscroft first encountered Matthew Taylor who was busily engaged in collecting up hymn books from the choir stalls.
‘Good day to you, Inspector. I trust you are fully recovered from your night time excursion to the fair town of Bewdley,’ said the choirmaster, looking up from his task.
‘Yes, thank you. But how did you know—?’ began Ravenscroft.
‘The walls of this cathedral have ears. Speak always in low tones, or your whispers will find you out!’ said the other in a light-hearted manner.
‘I had not realized that the news travelled so fast. Did you know Billy at all?’
‘Oh, everyone knew old Billy, smelly and as damp as a cowpat! He was often seen late at night staggering past the cathedral on his way back to his old tub. It’s a wonder he was ever able to find it, the condition he was generally in, but they always say a drowning rat will often return to the scene of his greatest triumphs. And now the drunken old fool has gone and killed the saintly Miss Weston. Could you please hold these books, Inspector, whilst I gather up the rest?’ said Taylor unloading a pile of hymn books into Ravenscroft’s outstretched arms.
‘Why do you think old Billy killed Miss Weston?’
‘How would I know, Inspector? I’m only a poor humble songster, and am completely unaware of the workings of the criminal mind,’ he laughed.
‘This is a serious matter, Mr Taylor,’ said Ravenscroft peering over the top of the increasing stack of books.
‘Of course, Inspector. You must excuse my frivolous nature. Now, let me see — why do I think Billy killed Miss Weston? Money! There that’s your answer. He killed her in return for money.’
‘I had deduced that already,’ replied Ravenscroft, annoyed. ‘Perhaps you might also be able to suggest, who you believe paid Billy to kill Miss Weston.’
‘Paid, was he? Well, yes, I suppose he must have been. There are plenty of candidates. What about Renfrew? My mother used to say, you can never trust an American, all descended from rustlers and deported highwaymen. Then there is my employer, Dr Edwards — although please don’t let on that I told you so, or I’ll be out of a job. You could try the famous illustrious Member for Worcester, his eminence the mighty Sir Arthur Griffiths, or perhaps one of those Tovey sisters thought they needed some entertainment to liven up the dull evenings,’ said the choirmaster, loading yet more books on to Ravenscroft.
‘You’ve left one person out, Mr Taylor.’
‘Have I? Dear me, who can that possibly be? No, surely not — but, yes, it must be me! I must be the evil mastermind behind these terrible deeds. I killed Evelyn to get my hands on the Whisperie, so I could sell it to the crooked American, thus enabling me to spend my ill-gotten gains on the gambling tables at Monte Carlo! Just follow me over here, Inspector. We stack the hymn books on the table.’
‘Mr Taylor, what can you tell me about Ruth Weston?’ said Ravenscroft, doing his best to ignore the previous remarks.
‘Oh the poor Miss Weston, she was such a plain, simple soul. I often saw the poor woman and her son at Holy Communion. She generally sat over there, amongst the servant classes, some rows back from Sir Arthur and all the other Worcester nobility,’ he replied, taking the books off Ravenscroft one by one, and stacking them in neat piles on the table.
‘Did you ever notice anyone with her? Did she ever have company?’
‘No. They always seemed alone. Rather sad, I suppose.’
‘Thank you, Mr Taylor. I’m looking for Brother Jonus.’
‘Then you will need to gird your loins: it’s a long way up to Heaven,’ said the choirmaster, taking the remaining books.
‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand?’
‘Up to the tower. That’s where Brother Jonus goes at this time of day.’
‘I see, and the way to the tower?’
‘You go up the steps over there,’ said Taylor, pointing. ‘Keep going until you get to the top. That’s where you will find Brother Jonus — and that is where you must also stop climbing, otherwise you might fall over the edge!’
‘I’ll try and remember,’ replied Ravenscroft, walking away.
‘Until next time, Inspector,’ called out the choirmaster.
Ravenscroft made his slow progression up the stairs of the tower, pausing now and again to steady himself against the walls and to ease the congestion in his lungs. Eventually he found himself stepping out from the gloom of the stairway into the bright sunlight of the upper platform of the tower.
‘Inspector Ravenscroft, you have come to admire the view,’ said Brother Jonus smiling.
‘Brother,’ replied Ravenscroft, shaking hands with the learned monk. ‘I was told I might find you up here.’
‘From here you can see not only the whole of Worcester but also the surrounding countryside. You have chosen an excellent day to make the climb. See the course of the river as it flows down to Upton and Tewkesbury, and over there where it joins the Birmingham canal at Diglis. There are the Malvern Hills. Now, if you turn the other way, Inspector, you can see the tents being set up on Pitchcroft in preparation for the races.’
‘It is certainly a fine view,’ replied Ravenscroft, gradually recovering his breath. He walked across to the edge of the platform and peered down.
‘You also have a good view of the green, although if you look down too long it can make you rather dizzy.’
‘I see what you mean,’ he replied, steadying himself and taking a few steps back from the edge. ‘I must admit, Brother Jonus, that heights are not always to my liking. Do you come up here often?’
‘Every day if I can manage it. I find that it gives me the peace and quiet that I need to consider the ills of the world.’
‘And does the world have many ills?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘You would know the answer to that question, Inspector, better than perhaps anyone.’
‘I have also found that there is a great deal of kindness and consideration.’
‘Indeed there is,’ replied the monk smiling. ‘And how are your investigations proceeding?’
‘You have heard about poor Miss Weston?’
‘A terrible thing; I have prayed for her soul.’
‘We sought to arrest the perpetrator last night, a bargeman by the name of Billy, but unfortunately he sustained a fatal injury whilst attempting to escape,’ said Ravenscroft, shading his eyes from the bright sun.
‘How awful.’
‘Were you acquainted with either of these two persons, Brother Jonus?’
‘Miss Weston would often bring her son to the cathedral grounds in the mornings. I would see her sitting on the seat down there by the tree, whilst her son played on the green. They seemed to be quite content and happy. I believe that she also attended services in the cathedral on a Sunday. She was engaged as a parlour maid in Sir Arthur Griffith’s residence.’
‘Did you ever notice whether she met anyone, whilst sitting on the green?’
The monk thought hard. ‘I don’t believe so.’
‘Did she ever confide in you?’
‘Alas no; I’m afraid I cannot help you there.’
‘What about Billy?’
‘Ah, Billy, he was different. When he wasn’t off on one of his journeys or drinking at the Diglis, he could often be found loitering around the main entrance to the cathedral.’
‘Oh, what was he doing there?’
‘Begging, I’m afraid. He would try and accost the visitors on their way in and out of the building, asking them for money. It was all quite embarrassing, I’m afraid. Sometimes I would go and give him some food and drink, on condition that he stopped his pleadings.’
‘And did he?’
‘He was generally quite accommodating. Of course, I was always careful not to give him any money. Occasionally, he would go off delivering some cargo along the
river or the canal and we would not see him for several days. Then he would return and spend all his money in the taverns, before becoming destitute once more.’
‘Did he ever confide in you, Brother?’
‘Yes, on a number of occasions. He was a very unhappy man, I believe. Always sorry for how life had treated him, and how he had missed his opportunity when he had been younger,’ said the monk sadly.
‘He never mentioned anyone in particular?’
‘No. There was no one in his life.’
‘Do you not think it is strange, Brother Jonus, that Billy, Miss Weston and indeed Nicholas Evelyn, all led lonely, isolated lives? Billy toiling alone on his old barge, Miss Weston and her son living in unappealing-rooms in Glovers Lodging-house, and Nicholas Evelyn spending all his working life in the cathedral library — living separate existences, day after day, year after year, making no friendships, confiding in no one, and yet each seeming as though they were waiting for some startling event that would free them from the worlds they had created for themselves.’
‘I can see, Inspector, that you have given this case a great deal of thought. Perhaps each of us is trying to escape from the world of our own creation. The future can often seem more appealing than the present, but it is the past that defines our immediate state. Sometimes it takes a degree of purpose to break the chains.’
Ravenscroft smiled at the old man’s words, and turned away from the sun.
‘And what is it that you seek, my son?’ asked the monk. ‘How is it possible that you might change your world?’
Ravenscroft stood in silence for some moments, knowing that the wise old brother was waiting patiently for him to speak.
‘There have been two occasions in my life, when I had the opportunity to change direction. Many years ago there was a young lady, whom I held in great esteem and affection, but at the time I failed to realize the strength of my feelings towards her. Eventually she decided to leave for Australia and I never saw her again. It was only after she had left that I began to acknowledge the foolishness of my indecision, and I began to regret the opportunity which I had missed.’
‘It is often the case that we do not realize the value of what we have until we have lost it — but please forgive my interruption. There has also been a recent event that preys on your mind?’
‘Last year I had cause to visit Malvern, and whilst engaged in my investigations there, I met a young lady whom I thought the fairest, loveliest creature that I had ever seen. My feelings towards this young lady, were I felt, acceptable to her, and I was able to assist both her and her brother. After the conclusion of the case, I had resolved to offer her my hand in marriage. I wanted us to be together, and for both our lives to change for the better.’
Ravenscroft paused and, clearing his throat, looked away into the distance.
‘Unfortunately there were a number of problems that stood in our way. A number of years previously she had formed an attachment to a young gentleman who had used her ill. She had found herself with child and he had deserted her in her hour of need. The child — he is now six years of age — is all of her life. She is very protective towards him and will do nothing that will cause him any harm or upset. That is most commendable. I admire her determination and resolve, and would not in any way seek to come between mother and son. She could not bring herself to acknowledge the strength of her feelings towards me, for fear that the lives of her child and herself might once again be placed in danger. During my investigations I had incurred the displeasure of her brother, whom I had considered for a while as being the guilty person in the crime I was attempting to solve. Although he was eventually proved innocent of any crime, he, nevertheless, did not look upon our possible union with any degree of enthusiasm.’
‘And what did you do, my son?’ asked the monk.
‘I-I walked away. I realized that I had little chance of success so I returned to London, tried to involve myself in my work, and trusted that in time, I would forget all about the woman who had so captured my heart.’
‘And did you?’
‘For a while, but I soon realized that I could never extinguish what I truly felt and yet I had to accept that I was powerless to alter the situation. Now that I have returned once more to Worcestershire, I find myself turning towards the Malverns and realizing that beyond the hills, there lies a small welcoming town, where everything that I have ever desired lies waiting, but I cannot reach out to acquire that which I desire above all other. So you see Brother Jonus, once this case is over, I will go back to my lonely room, in a dingy street in that forgotten part of London, where the sun seldom penetrates and where I will be alone with my thoughts for company. Is it not a sad tale, Brother Jonus, that I tell? Perhaps in time, I will become like Evelyn and Billy and poor Ruth Weston, forgotten by everyone and deservedly so.’
The two men stood in silence for some minutes, each alone with his own thoughts and memories.
‘And yet you know in your heart, my son, that you have the power to change all that,’ said the monk slowly.
‘How, Brother, how? What is it that I must do? I have no desire to bring harm to Lucy by reappearing in her life. I could not expect her to place me before her own son. That would be so cruel and unjust. I have no right to do it.’
‘Perhaps you are more afraid of your own rejection?’ suggested the monk. For a moment their eyes met, before Ravenscroft turned away suddenly. ‘I must go. I have detained you longer than I should,’ he said, walking towards the entrance to the steps.
‘Then I wish you well, my son, both with your professional undertaking and with your personal endeavours.’
Ravenscroft turned back and shook the monk’s hand before beginning the long descent back down to the floor of the cathedral.
Ravenscroft spent an uncomfortable night. The intermittent noises of the late night revellers outside his bedroom window celebrating the commencement of the Worcester Races, rendered the chance of any sleep almost an impossibility. At two o’clock in the morning a large scale fight that threatened to involve both the inhabitants of the whole of Friar Street and the visitors, accompanied by loud jeers and broken raucous applause, made him despair. When at three o’clock the affray seemed to die down only to be replaced by numerous encores of what he supposed to be Irish songs of a particularly unsavoury nature, Ravenscroft decided that it would be futile to remain in his room a moment longer. He dressed quickly, opened the door of the Cardinal’s Hat and made his way through the merry songsters until he reached the calm and peace of the cathedral Close.
Ravenscroft found his usual seat and sat down beneath the dim light of the hissing gas lamp. Most of the buildings in the Close were in complete darkness, except for the dim hall light which shone in the house of Sir Arthur Griffiths. The moon illuminated parts of the great cathedral building, throwing shadows across the grass, thereby emphasizing its age and grandeur.
Drawing his coat closer around him, Ravenscroft stretched out his legs, and rested his head on the back of the seat, before giving a deep sigh of relief that he had at last escaped the ribaldry of Friar Street. Closing his eyes, and feeling the gentle breeze of the night air upon his face, he found his thoughts returning to the day when he had first sat there on the same seat and had encountered Ruth Weston and her son. Now Ruth was dead, leaving her child an orphan except for the generosity of the Crabbs, and, without anyone to care for him in the world. Then he remembered the long climb up to the top of the tower and the words which Brother Jonus had spoken to him. For a moment he recalled peering down over the parapet and seeing again the ground revolving around him, and he felt a cold shiver run down his spine at the recollection of the scene. His thoughts turned to the little cottage in Ledbury where he knew that Lucy Armitage would be found, and wondered whether she might have rid her mind of their past meetings, or yet have retained some affection for him, but then he concluded that he must cast away such pleasant thoughts and false hopes.
Gradually his head became hea
vier and, as it fell downwards on to his chest, he saw himself again in Silas Renfrew’s library and heard once more the casual drawl of the American — ‘… part of the Worcester Antiphoner, a composite liturgical work dating back to the fourteenth century …’ The words kept repeating themselves, going round and round in a never-ending spiral, until he broke away only to find his exit barred by the threatening presence of the Italian manservant.
‘Here, what are you doing out at this time of night?’
Ravenscroft awoke with a start.
‘Oh, begging your pardon, Inspector. I thought you were some vagrant or some other ne’er-do-well.’
Ravenscroft looked up into the face of the intruder of his dreams, and recognized the speaker as one of the constables who had assisted him in his search for the missing book along the banks of the river a few days earlier. ‘No, I am not a vagrant. To tell you the truth, Officer, I came out here for some peace and quiet. The noise of the revellers outside the Cardinal’s Hat was making it impossible for me to sleep.’
‘I know what you mean, sir. The cells back at the station are full of them, drunken Irishmen mainly.’
‘How long do the races go on for, Officer?’
‘Usually about three days. We’ll be glad at the station when it’s over and they’ve all gone back to their homes.’
‘What time is it?’
‘It’s just gone six, sir. Soon be dawn.’
‘That is good.’
‘Well, sir, I’ll leave you to your thoughts. Sorry to have disturbed you,’ said the police constable, giving Ravenscroft a salute, before walking back towards the town.
Ravenscroft looked up at the sky, where the new day would soon dawn, stretched his legs and gave a loud yawn. ‘The Antiphoner’ The words kept repeating themselves. ‘The Antiphoner — a work dating back to the fourteenth century’. Renfrew had said that he had purchased the work at auction in New York some years before, but surely such a precious item as the Antiphoner should be where it belonged — in the cathedral library — rather than in a private collection? Had he acquired the work illegally, and if so, had he purchased it from Evelyn?
