by Kerry Tombs
‘I’ve seen those Christian names before,’ said Crabb.
‘So have I. If I recall correctly, you discovered from your research in the library that Arthur, Granville, Sackville, and Boscawen were all Christian names of Sir Arthur Griffiths. Ruth gave her son not only all those names but also Griffiths as well. It was as though she was telling anyone who came after her, that Sir Arthur Griffiths was the boy’s father, although she felt compelled not to name him as such on the birth certificate,’ whispered Ravenscroft, so that the clerk would not hear.
‘And that is why Sir Arthur did not dismiss her,’ said Crabb.
‘Exactly! He may have had some feelings for the mother and child, but could not admit publicly that he was the father. That is why Ruth took the boy on to the green every day, before she went to work, and why she said to me that one day her son would live in that house. She hoped that eventually Sir Arthur would acknowledge his son, and that the boy would assume his rightful place. The Arthur and Ruth embroidered on the cloth does not stand for Ruth and her son, they represent Ruth and Sir Arthur!’
The clerk let out a loud sneeze.
‘I’m sorry we have detained you,’ said Ravenscroft, closing the ledger.
‘Got what you came for?’ muttered the clerk.
‘Yes, thank you, my man. You can lock up now.’
‘Trust you won’t be needing anything else?’ said the clerk picking up the ledgers.
‘At this moment, I do not believe so — but you can never tell,’ said Ravenscroft, smiling.
The clerk scowled as he locked the door behind them.
‘Well, this puts a new face on the case,’ said Crabb, as they walked along Foregate Street.
‘Maybe. If Sir Arthur is the boy’s father — and the evidence would tend to suggest that is the case — then we need to confront him with our findings. Do you know, Crabb, I am beginning to find that this case is becoming more and more like an onion every day,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘An onion?’
‘As we uncover another layer of the truth, so we near the centre of the onion where the solution promises to be found. The only problem is — our onion is quite a large one, and has many skins.’
Ten minutes later the two men found themselves standing outside the home of Sir Arthur Griffiths.
‘I don’t think he will be too pleased to see us when he hears what we have to say,’ said Crabb.
The maid opened the door.
‘Is Sir Arthur in residence today?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘It is very important that we have words with him.’
‘If you would both care to wait in the hall, sir. The master has someone with him at the moment, but I will inform him of your arrival.’ Ravenscroft and Crabb stepped inside, as the maid knocked on the door of the drawing-room, and disappeared from view.
‘I must admit that I am not looking forward to this interview,’ said Ravenscroft, walking up and down the hallway.
‘My dear Ravenscroft, good to see you again. I hear you have apprehended the felon who killed poor Miss Weston,’ said Sir Arthur opening the door suddenly and striding out into the hall. ‘Well done. I always knew you were the man for the job.’
‘Unfortunately the man was killed before he could tell us anything,’ replied Ravenscroft.
‘Does that matter?’ asked Sir Arthur. ‘After all you must have been sure of your evidence.’
‘Indeed, Sir Arthur. However, the case has not been completely solved. There have been some recent developments that I need to discuss with you.’
‘I see. Well, you’d best come into the drawing-room,’ replied the politician leading the way.
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘May I introduce you to Mrs Marchmont?’ said Sir Arthur.
Ravenscroft paused momentarily: the lady sitting on one of the drawing- room chairs was the last person he had expected to encounter that day.
‘This is Inspector Ravenscroft, my dear. He has been investigating the death of my servant, Ruth Weston.’
‘Mrs Marchmont,’ said Ravenscroft, recovering his composure and giving a slight bow in the lady’s direction.
‘Inspector Ravenscroft,’ said the lady, whom Ravenscroft had known as Mrs Kelly.
‘You two look as though you have met somewhere before,’ said Sir Arthur.
‘No. I don’t believe Inspector Ravenscroft and I have ever spoken together,’ smiled Mrs Marchmont.
‘Well, Ravenscroft, what’s all this about? You said there had been some developments in the case?’ asked Sir Arthur.
‘My news is of a rather delicate, personal nature,’ said Ravenscroft, giving a sideways glance at Mrs Marchmont.
‘I see. I wonder, my dear, if you would excuse us for a few minutes?’ said Sir Arthur.
‘Of course, Sir Arthur. It is time I was returning home. If you will excuse me, gentlemen?’ said Mrs Marchmont smiling.
‘Then let me see you out, my dear lady,’ offered Sir Arthur.
‘Good day to you, Inspector.’
‘Good day to you, Mrs Marchmont,’ said Ravenscroft stepping to one side of the room, ‘Perhaps we shall meet again sometime in the future.’
‘I have no doubt of it, Inspector,’ replied Mrs Marchmont, with a certainty that Ravenscroft found unnerving, and she left the room accompanied by Sir Arthur.
The door closed behind them. ‘That’s twice we have seen your lady in black here,’ whispered Crabb.
‘More than a coincidence?’ remarked Ravenscroft, straining to hear what was being said beyond the closed door.
‘They seem to be on good terms with one another,’ suggested Crabb.
The door opened and Sir Arthur strode in once more. ‘Now then, Ravenscroft, take a seat. What can I do for you?’
‘I don’t quite know how to put this to you,’ said Ravenscroft, accepting the offer. ‘What I have to say may not be of a welcome nature.’
‘Out with it, man. No need to beat about the bush. I always believe in a direct approach,’ said Sir Arthur.
‘During our investigations into the brutal murder of your maid, Ruth Weston, I had cause to inspect the official registers for the birth of her son, Arthur,’ began Ravenscroft.
‘What on earth for? What has the birth of Ruth Weston’s son to do with her death?’ asked Sir Arthur, sitting uneasily in his chair.
‘Bear with me, sir. I found that the child had been christened Arthur, Granville, Sackville, Boscawen, Griffiths Weston. You will note, sir, that the first four Christian names are the same as your own, and that the last Christian name — Griffiths — is your own surname. The father is not named however, on the birth entry,’ said Ravenscroft in as formal and calm manner as he could.
‘I see.’ Sir Arthur rose from his seat and walked over to the window, where he remained silent for some moments. Ravenscroft looked across at Crabb and wondered whether he had been too blunt in his approach. ‘You have done well, Inspector. So you have discovered my little secret. Yes, I was the father of Ruth Weston’s child. My wife had been dead for some years when Miss Weston entered my household — and yes, I must admit that I abused my position as her employer and benefactor — and in a moment of weakness took advantage of her. I am not particularly proud of my actions, and I do not expect you to understand the loneliness I was feeling at the time, although I might add that my attentions were reciprocated by the other party. You must appreciate, however, that I could not acknowledge the child as my own. That would have led to my ruin and would have served little purpose. All I could do was to see that Ruth and her son were found lodgings in the town, and that she continued in my employ, so that I might be able to see that no harm should befall either of them. I suppose you would seek to condemn my actions.’
‘It is not my role to either approve or disapprove of your actions, Sir Arthur.’
‘Look, does all this need to come out? As you say, you have caught Ruth’s murderer, so what possible good can come of making pu
blic the parentage of the boy?’ said Sir Arthur resuming his seat.
‘Although Billy, the bargeman, killed her, we believe that he was paid to do so by another party whose identity is at present unknown to us. We believe that she had probably discovered the identity of the man who had killed Nicholas Evelyn the librarian, and consequently she suffered the same fate that had befallen him. Whoever took the Whisperie and killed Evelyn, also paid Billy to kill Ruth Weston.’
‘And do you have any notion as to who this person is?’
‘At the moment we are following several lines of inquiry, and have a number of possible suspects under consideration,’ replied the inspector, trying to sound as confident as he could.
‘Then there is no reason why the parentage of Ruth Weston’s son should be made public, as it clearly has no bearing on the case,’ suggested Sir Arthur nervously.
‘It would seem that way, Sir Arthur.’
‘Then can I have your assurance that what I have told you today will not enter into the public domain?’ asked the politician.
‘I cannot give you a complete assurance on that score,’ said Ravenscroft, ‘but you have my word, Sir Arthur, that the true parentage of Ruth Weston’s child will not be made public, unless I find that it has a direct bearing on this case. That is all I can say at present.’
‘Then, that is all I can ask for. I thank you, Inspector,’ said Sir Arthur, rising from his seat and offering his hand.
‘Rest assured, we will do all in our power to find the murderer of Nicholas Evelyn and Ruth Weston, and bring him to justice,’ said Ravenscroft, shaking the outstretched hand.
‘I wish you well, Inspector, in your investigations. If you require any assistance, at any time, then please call on me.’
They began to walk out of the room, but were unexpectedly called back by their host. ‘Tell me one more thing.’
‘Sir Arthur?’
‘The boy — where is the boy now?’
‘The child, Arthur, is being cared for by the wife of my colleague here, Constable Crabb, but such an arrangement, of course, can only be of a temporary nature,’ replied Ravenscroft.
‘And eventually?’
‘We would need to place him with the appropriate authorities.’
‘By which you mean the workhouse?’
‘Until he should come of age to secure an apprenticeship of some kind, or unless—’
‘Thank you, Inspector,’ said Sir Arthur quickly, interrupting and turning away.
Ravenscroft closed the door behind him, and he and Crabb stepped out on to the green and into the early autumn sunshine.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘Sit down, Ravenscroft.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Not a very pleasant thing to receive,’ said Superintendent Henderson, brandishing a sheet of paper.
‘No, sir,’ replied Ravenscroft, guessing what was about to happen next.
‘Apparently you have had dealings with some fellow called Cranston.’
‘I have had cause to interview him on two occasions, in connection with our investigations, yes, sir.’
‘He says you were rude and objectionable. Wanted to search his rooms, and when he refused, he says that you were heavy handed and threatened him with all manner of things,’ said Henderson, glowering.
‘That is an incorrect accusation. I certainly wanted to search his rooms, and he did object, but at no time did I threaten him. Nor was I rude or objectionable,’ replied Ravenscroft, beginning to feel uncomfortable.
‘Well, that’s not what he says here. Apparently he’s got some smart London brief called Sefton Rawlinson to represent him. Says he knows you.’
‘I have encountered the said legal gentleman in the courts of the Old Bailey,’ Ravenscroft said, fearing the worst.
‘This fellow Rawlinson says you are victimizing Cranston, and that if you have any further contact with his client, he will take legal action against both the force and yourself. I view this as a grave matter, Ravenscroft, a very grave matter indeed.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Damn it man, can’t you see that anything which brings the force into disrepute, is not to be tolerated?’ barked Henderson.
‘I understand.’
‘Just who is this Cranston fellow anyway?’
‘He is a commercial traveller with the Worcester Porcelain Company. He lives at the same premises as the victims, Nicholas Evelyn and Ruth Weston. That is why I decided to interview him. He proved the most objectionable of fellows and raised my suspicions. In particular, I discovered that although he claimed to have worked for the Wedgewood Company for a number of years — before arriving in Worcester — this proved on further investigation, not to be the case,’ said Ravenscroft attempting to placate his superior.
‘So you asked to search his rooms?’
‘Yes.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘I thought there might be some evidence there that would link him to the two murders. There was also the possibility that we might have found the Whisperie.’
‘But you had no reason to undertake such a search, other than the fact that he lied about his past employment?’ said Henderson, his face growing redder by the second.
‘I considered that there was just cause to undertake such a search.’
‘Good grief, you can’t go around threatening people—’
‘I did not threaten him.’
‘That’s not what it says here,’ replied Henderson, waving the letter again.
‘Begging your pardon, sir, but I still believe that Cranston is one of our chief suspects. He has clearly lied about his past, which suggests to me that he probably has a criminal record—’
‘But you don’t know that?’
‘No, sir, but—’
‘This just won’t do, Ravenscroft. We can’t go around getting heavy handed with people and demanding to search their premises, just on the grounds that we dislike them, and suspect them of having a criminal record. That might be how you do things in London; we do things rather differently here in Worcester. If I let my officers behave in the way you have, the reputation of both the force, and myself would reach an all-time low.’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Ravenscroft, staring at the floor with downcast eyes.
‘I’m taking you off the case, Ravenscroft, as from now. You’d best go back to London and leave the rest of the investigation to us. Your assistant, Cribb, can take over,’ said Henderson firmly.
‘Crabb, sir,’ corrected Ravenscroft.
‘Cribb, Crabb, whatever. He can carry on for a couple of days. I suppose I shall now have to write to this Rawlinson fellow, offering some sort of apology to his client. I tell you, Ravenscroft, this is just about the last thing I want on my plate.’
‘With due respect, sir, I believe that another two or three days will enable me to solve this case,’ said Ravenscroft hopefully.
‘You’ve nothing to go on, man. You’ve been here now over two weeks, and all you have managed to do is track down that ruffian Billy. Accept the fact, that he probably killed Evelyn as well. Let’s close the file and have done with it.’
‘I don’t believe that to be the case, sir — and we have not yet recovered the Whisperie,’ protested Ravenscroft.
‘It’s probably at the bottom of the Severn.’
‘I believe it may be in the possession of Dr Silas Renfrew.’
‘What evidence do you have to support this view?’ snapped Henderson glaring at him.
‘I believe that the Antiphoner, which is currently in his possession—’
‘What the devil is an Antiphoner?’
‘It’s an early medieval manuscript, which I believe was once in the possession of the cathedral authorities. Renfrew maintains that he purchased the work in New York some years ago.’
‘And I suppose you don’t believe him.’
‘I have my suspicions, that he may be telling us an untruth.’
‘So you think this Renfrew has
got the Whisperie as well?’
‘That remains a strong possibility,’ replied Ravenscroft, beginning to see a faint glimmer of hope that he had engaged his superior’s interest at last.
‘But you don’t have any evidence?’
‘Not at present.’
‘And I suppose you want to search his premises in an attempt to find it?’ said Henderson sarcastically.
‘It might resolve the matter and draw the case to a satisfactory conclusion.’
‘Good grief. If I allowed you to ride roughshod all through Renfrew’s home, there would be a public outcry. Renfrew is a respected figure in this town. Met him myself a couple of times and found him a pleasant enough fellow — not bad at all for an American.’
‘If I could just have a few more days, sir,’ pleaded Ravenscroft. ‘With due respect it would not look good if the case was not bought to a satisfactory conclusion. It would reflect badly on the force — and on yourself as well, if the Whisperie was never recovered.’
‘Hmm, I suppose you have a point,’ grumbled Henderson.
‘The force would be derided for its failure to solve the case. I know the Dean and Chapter would be particularly annoyed if the work was never recovered,’ said Ravenscroft, sensing that a reprieve might just be in sight.
‘Yes, yes,’ replied Henderson irritably ‘All right, all right. I’ll give you just two more days to tidy up this affair, but after that I’m drawing a line under the case.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Ravenscroft, rising from his chair eagerly, anxious to leave the room as quickly as possible before his superior changed his mind.
‘On one condition, Ravenscroft, one condition: you are to keep away from this Cranston fellow, and there is to be no search made of Dr Renfrew’s house. Do I make myself clear?’ snapped Henderson.
‘Absolutely, sir, I quite understand. Will that be all?’
The superintendent dismissed Ravenscroft with a flick of his hand, and looked back at his paperwork.
Ravenscroft stepped out into the street and gave a sigh of relief. He had managed to deflect Henderson’s wrath and had gained another two days to continue with his inquiries — but the realization that he was now virtually forbidden to have any further contact with his two principal suspects now appeared as a severe blow to his hopes.
