by Kerry Tombs
‘Madame will be well in a moment. It is just the motion of the vessel. Thank you.’
‘I understand, Monsieur,’ replied the fellow passenger, smiling and taking his leave.
He watched as the stranger made his way back along the deck, continuing to support his victim as he waited for the sound of the door opening and then closing.
He waited for a few seconds, his face close to hers, listening and looking for anything or anyone that could possibly disturb his next action. Then, sure that he was alone and unobserved once more, he quickly thrust her forwards over the rail, and stepped backwards into the darkness as the body fell into the water.
He stood silently on the deck for a few moments, hoping that no one would have heard the sound, before quickly retracing his steps through the door and down the steps to his cabin.
Locking the door behind him, he stared into the mirror without emotion and began to slowly remove his beard and grey hair. Opening his case he took out another set of clothes, which he placed neatly upon the bed.
The Old Man had served him well but it was now time to move on and leave Cranston as nothing more than a brief passing memory.
He would again become Monk, the man of the shadows. He had covered his tracks with his usual expertise. There had been nothing to suggest that it had been anyone other than Marie Jeanette who had perished in that room that night, and now that he had ended her short life as well, there would be nothing to link him with the crimes of the previous few months. The police would continue to make enquiries, but he would never be found.
His secret would continue down through the generations.
Now he could begin again – a new life!
Tomorrow he would assume his new identity, slip away unnoticed from the boat and return to the capital, where he would again seek out others who would have need of his services.
CHAPTER ONE
LEDBURY, CHRISTMAS EVE, 1888
‘A very Happy Christmas to you sir!’
Anthony Midwinter looked across at the old lamplighter in Church Lane. ‘Yes, thank you, Mr Sanderson, and to you,’ he replied quickly, anxious to continue his journey.
‘Looks to be a cold one. Snow falling already, sir,’ continued the other, reluctant to let his new listener depart, and attempting to rectify the spluttering flame.
‘Yes, I think you are correct,’ said Anthony, turning up his collar against the cold air and the falling flakes as he made his way across the cobbles.
‘My best wishes to your good lady, sir,’ called out the lamplighter.
The old church clock of Ledbury struck four. Another hour and Anthony knew that he would be free to attend to his own celebrations, not that they would amount to a great deal. There would be no excited children to open presents before an open fire, no unexpected guests to disturb their Christmas dinner, no long-lost relative returning to arouse their curiosity. He would merely exchange gifts with his wife later that evening. They would attend church on the morrow, where they would pass a few words of greeting with their fellow townsfolk, many of whom he had served in a professional capacity for the past forty years. On the day following they would make the tiresome journey across to the nearby village of Eastnor, where they would be welcomed by his wife’s irritating brother and his dull wife. No, he was long past the time of life when Christmas had come to hold any appeal to him. But then he remembered that there would at least be the hunt to watch, where he would again pay his respects to the local gentry, and an opportunity perhaps to read one or two books in the evenings, seated before a roaring fire. In fact, the more he considered the prospect of Christmas, the more he found himself growing to like the idea.
Suddenly he felt himself sliding as his foot slipped on the wet surface of the cobbles, and he flung out one of his hands in a vain attempt to soften his fall.
‘My dear sir, let me be of assistance,’ said a concerned voice somewhere above him.
Anthony accepted the outstretched hand and regained his footing. ‘Thank you, sir, you are most kind.’
‘A treacherous afternoon. Are you hurt in any way? I live in the cottage over there. You would be most welcome to enter and rest with my wife and myself until you feel reassured to continue with your journey,’ said the speaker, smiling.
‘No. I am quite well, sir. That will not be necessary, I thank you,’ he replied, brushing the wet flakes away from his coat.
‘If you are quite sure? My name is Samuel Ravenscroft,’ said his saviour, offering his hand.
‘Anthony Midwinter of Midwinter, Oliphant and Burrows, at your service, sir,’ replied the solicitor, shaking hands with the middle-aged man with thinning hair and pleasant manner.
‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Midwinter.’
‘You are a new arrival in the town, sir?’ inquired Anthony, always anxious to acquire new prospective clients.
‘Yes, although my wife has lived here for over three years. You may have known her as Miss Armitage?’
‘I know of the name but cannot recollect having ever met the young lady in any professional capacity. If you will excuse me now.’
‘Yes, of course. It is a busy time and I must not detain you.’
‘I thank you once again for your kind assistance, Mr Ravenscroft. Should you ever feel in need of my legal services, you will find my offices across from the marketplace.’
‘I wish you the compliments of the season, sir,’ said Ravenscroft, giving a slight bow before walking across to his cottage.
Anthony continued on his way, down the narrow lane where the old black and white buildings looked across at one another from opposite sides of the walkway. He exchanged greetings with one or two of his clients at the bottom of the lane. The flakes of snow began to increase as he entered the busy marketplace. He drew his coat closer to him as he paused to listen to a group of carol singers.
‘A penny for the poor of Ledbury,’ said one of their number, shaking a box in his direction. Anthony dug deep into his inner pocket and produced a coin, which he placed in the slot. He doubted whether the poor of Ledbury would ever have need of his services, but he knew the gesture would be expected of him as one of the prominent businessmen resident in the town.
‘God bless you, Mr Midwinter – and a Happy Christmas to you!’
Anthony nodded and quickly made his way through the crowd towards one of the open shops.
‘Good day to you, Mr Midwinter. Can we interest you in one of our lovely birds?’ said the cheery, red-faced shopkeeper, raising his arm and sweeping it majestically across his display.
‘I’ll take that goose, if you please,’ replied Anthony, pointing to the bird at the end of the open table that had first presented itself to his casual gaze.
‘A good choice, sir, if I might say so; a very good choice. This bird would do justice to the finest table in Ledbury. I’ll have my boy deliver it to your house within the hour.’
‘Thank you.’
‘The compliments of the season, sir, to you and your good wife,’ shouted out the butcher, as his latest customer hurried away.
‘And to you and your family.’
Anthony turned away from the marketplace, crossed over the road, and walked a few yards before entering an old building which bore a brass plaque with the words ‘Midwinter, Oliphant and Burrows. Solicitors’. Seeing the highly polished plate with its neat lettering never ceased to remind him of the day when he had first joined the practice as an articled pupil some forty years before. Then the business had been merely Burrows and Son. When old Burrows’ son had died unexpectedly, however, Anthony had used his meagre inheritance to buy his way into the partnership, and when Burrows himself had passed away some fifteen years previous, he had assumed the sole ownership of the firm. That was when he added the Oliphant. There had never been any Oliphant, of course, but Anthony had added it nevertheless, believing that it created the impression that the firm was larger than it first appeared.
‘Any news, Perkins?’ he enquired of
the young clerk who rose from his desk as he entered.
‘No, Mr Midwinter. I think everyone is far too busy at the moment preparing for Christmas to require our services, sir.’
‘No matter, Perkins. At least we are here should anyone have urgent need of our services. The pen and our expertise are always available. Have you completed the copying yet?’
‘Another page to go, sir,’ replied the young man smiling.
‘Good. Let me know when you have finished,’ said Anthony, opening the door of the inner office as the clerk resumed his labours.
After hanging his coat on the single peg, he warmed his hands in front of the dying embers in the grate before seating himself behind his large desk. Opening a folder before him, he read intently for some minutes before uttering a deep sigh and leaning back in his chair. As he gazed up at the stained ceiling, thoughts of expansion again crept into his mind, as they had done from time to time during many an idle moment in the past five years. He really could do with taking on a new partner, someone younger, who would attend to the more mundane work of the practice and to whom he could eventually sell his share when he needed to seek retirement – but then there was the continual worry that such a move might not support two partners. Since that new practice had opened up further along the Homend six years ago, with its two young partners, he had seen a steady decline in the fortunes of his own business as his clients had slowly drifted away.
His thoughts were disturbed by a knocking at his door.
‘Begging your pardon, sir, but there is a gentleman who would like a word with you. He is most insistent, sir,’ said his clerk, entering the room.
‘Is this gentleman known to us, Perkins?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Did he give a name?’
‘No, sir. I’ve never seen him before. He says his business is most important and that he must see you before Christmas.’
‘Then you had best show him in.’
His clerk closed the door, only to reopen it a few seconds later.
A tall, thin gentleman, wearing a long overcoat with a turned-up collar, grey hat, and sporting a turned-down carroty-type moustache, entered the room.
‘Good day to you, sir. Good of you to see me at such a late hour. Mr Oliphant, I presume?’ said the stranger, extending an arm.
‘Midwinter,’ corrected Anthony, rising from his seat and shaking the new arrival’s hand as his clerk left the room. ‘Mr Oliphant is away on business at present.’
‘My apologies, sir. Mr Midwinter.’
‘Would you care to take a seat, sir. And whom do I have the honour of addressing?’ he enquired.
‘My name is of little consequence,’ said the other.
‘And how can I be of assistance to you, sir?’
‘My business is of a highly serious and delicate nature, Mr Midwinter,’ said the stranger, accepting the seat and removing his hat.
‘Most of my clients would say the same,’ replied Anthony.
‘I would need to be assured, sir, that what I tell you in this room tonight would not go any further than these four walls.’
Anthony observed that the new arrival spoke in a London accent, and that his delivery was of a hurried, almost nervous, nature.
‘You would have my word on that, my dear sir,’ said Anthony, trying to sound reassuring.
‘I would also need to know that you would not seek to question me further about my affairs, or my motives in the matter that I intend placing before you. I can assure you that you would be paid well for undertaking a task that would require little effort on your part.’
‘I see. I cannot see a problem in that respect,’ replied Anthony, leaning back in his chair and becoming intrigued as to what was about to be revealed to him.
‘Good. I can see that I have made the correct choice,’ said the new arrival, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his coat, reaching into its inner pocket and producing a large brown package, which he placed on the table before the solicitor.
Anthony stared down at the package, not knowing whether he should leave it where it was or examine it.
‘This envelope, Mr Midwinter, contains papers of a delicate and sensitive nature. The package must never be opened, by anyone, least of all by yourself or anyone in your employ. There are others out there who would seek to do so. Should these documents ever find their way into the public arena, the very foundation and stability of our country would be put at risk,’ said the stranger, leaning forward and tapping the envelope with one of his fingers.
‘I see,’ said Anthony, somewhat taken aback by what was being imparted to him.
‘I have two requests of you, Mr Midwinter. One is that I leave the package with you, for safe custody. No doubt you have a secure safe?’
‘Over there.’ Anthony indicated to the corner of the room, where the tall metal device was located.
‘Excellent. And the keys?’
‘There is only one set of keys to the safe, and I have it upon my person at all times. Not even my clerk has access. Be assured sir, that your package will be safe with us.’
‘Good,’ said the stranger, again reaching into his coat pocket and taking out a wallet from which he extracted a five pound note. He placed it upon the desk in front of Anthony.
‘I will return on 1 May, when I may have further instructions for you, and when you will be paid a further five pounds for your services. I trust that will be satisfactory?’
‘Yes, that will be more than satisfactory. We are often asked to look after important papers for our clients. I will have my clerk issue you with a receipt.’
‘That will not be necessary, Mr Midwinter.’
‘As you wish. But you mentioned two requests?’
The stranger paused for a moment, shifted uneasily in his chair and frowned deeply before speaking. ‘My second request may not need to be carried out, Mr Midwinter. Should I not return to your offices on 1 May, however, you are to take the package and present it to the manager of the bank here in Ledbury.’
‘We have two banks here in Ledbury. There is Martins Bank and there is Cocks and Biddulph. To which bank am I to take the package?’ asked Anthony, looking puzzled.
‘Cocks and Biddulph. You must insist on seeing the senior partner, and him alone, and present him with the package. He will see that it is returned to its rightful illustrious owner.’
‘Forgive me, sir, for enquiring, but why have you chosen me to look after your package? Would it not be more convenient for you to leave it with Cocks and Biddulph in the first place?’ asked Anthony, becoming somewhat perplexed by the whole matter that was unfolding in front of him.
‘Mr Midwinter, sir, I have requested that you do not enquire into my affairs. It is you whom I have chosen to look after the envelope. You are only to carry out my second instruction should I not return to your offices on the appointed date. I think I make myself clear on that point,’ said the stranger, hastily rising from his seat.
‘Of course, my dear sir. There is no address where I can contact you?’
‘None. I shall be leaving Ledbury on the evening train for London. You will not see me again until May. I wish you the compliments of the season, sir.’
‘And to you, my dear sir.’ Anthony rang the bell on his desk, rose to his feet and shook the other’s hand.
The door opened and his clerk entered.
‘Ah, Perkins, will you show this gentleman out?’
‘Of course, sir. If you would care to follow me, sir.’
The stranger hurried from the room, and Anthony listened to his clerk opening and closing the door of the outer office.
Anthony stared down at the package for some moments before picking it up. He estimated that it perhaps contained a dozen papers or so. Crossing over to the safe, he placed his key in the lock and opened the large, heavy door. Before depositing the package on the second shelf from the top, he observed that the envelope had two initials written in pencil in the top left-hand corner – ‘A.V.’ Antho
ny scratched his head. The initials obviously meant something to the man who had ensured the package to his safe custody, and had probably been written on the outside of the envelope so as to distinguish it from any others of a similar nature.
As he locked the door to the safe, he went over in his mind once more the words that the stranger had used – ‘should any of these documents ever find their way into the public arena, then the very foundation and stability of our country would be placed at risk’. It all sounded very mysterious and important. But what had the stranger meant by those words? If the envelope and its contents were all that important, why had he been chosen, above all others, to be the guardian of such property? Why had he been instructed to take the package to Cocks and Biddulph if the stranger failed to return in May? Why had the stranger not chosen to take it there in the first place? The more he thought about it, the more puzzled he became.
Finally he came to the conclusion that no amount of deliberation on his part would throw any light on the intriguing matter. Extinguishing the light in his room, and after dampening down the remainder of the small fire and buttoning up his overcoat, he closed the door to his office and turned the key in the lock.
‘I think you can safely leave off that now, Perkins. What is not done now can safely wait until the festive season is over.’
‘Right you are, Mr Midwinter,’ replied the clerk, closing his ledger with an eager flourish.
‘Put out the candles and let us return to our families for the festive season.’
‘As you wish, sir.’
Closing the outer door behind him, Anthony shook hands with his clerk. ‘A very Happy Christmas, Tom, to you and your family.’
‘Thank you most kindly, sir. May I wish the best of the season to you and your wife, Mr Midwinter. Strange sort of gent, sir, to seek us out at such an hour,’ replied his clerk, stamping his feet on the snowy ground.
‘Strange indeed, Tom. Strange indeed.’
CHAPTER TWO
LEDBURY, NEW YEAR’S EVE, 1888/89
