The Inspector Ravenscroft Mysteries Box Set

by Kerry Tombs

  After a few moments she returned and instructed them to follow her into the drawing-room. ‘Inspector Ravenscroft and Constable Cribb, my lady.’

  ‘Crabb. Constable Crabb,’ corrected the policeman.

  ‘Ravenscroft.’ Maurice Montacute was standing by the fire.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Montacute,’ replied Ravenscroft, shaking hands with the banker.

  ‘Mrs Montacute has agreed to answer your questions, Ravenscroft.’

  ‘Good morning, madam. Please accept my sincere condolences for your loss,’ said Ravenscroft, stepping forward and giving a slight bow in the direction of the lady who was sitting on a chair before the fire.

  ‘You were there at the Lamplighters’ Ball, when my husband …’ said Mrs Montacute, her voice trailing away, the red eyes indicating the symptoms of her grief.

  ‘I thought it best if I were present, Ravenscroft,’ said Maurice.

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘Do take a seat, man. How are your investigations proceeding?’

  ‘Slowly, but with thoroughness, sir,’ replied Ravenscroft, accepting the chair and trusting that he had given the answer that had been expected of him.

  ‘I hear that you suspect some man whom my husband sent to prison some years ago?’ enquired the lady, looking directly at Ravenscroft.

  ‘We have discovered that a certain Joshua Leewood was indeed sentenced to a term of imprisonment by your late husband, and that this man absconded from Hereford gaol shortly before Christmas. Does the name Leewood seem in any way familiar to you, Mrs Montacute?’ asked Ravenscroft.

  ‘I hardly think that Mrs Montacute would have had any recollection of this Leewood. After all, the incident occurred before Mrs Montacute met my father,’ interjected Maurice.

  ‘Of course. I just wondered whether your husband ever mentioned his name, in conversation, at some later date?’

  ‘No, Inspector. The name is unfamiliar to me.’

  ‘Did your husband ever mention anyone whom he thought might have been his enemy?’

  ‘No. My husband always kept his business affairs to himself. He very rarely discussed his financial undertakings with me,’ replied the young widow, looking down at her neatly folded hands.

  ‘So you cannot think of anyone who would have wanted to kill your husband?’ asked Ravenscroft, noticing that tears were beginning to form in the reddened eyes.

  ‘Look, Ravenscroft, you can see how distressed Mrs Montacute is. Could we not leave this until another day?’ said Maurice anxiously.

  ‘No, Maurice, it will be quite all right. The inspector must do his duty if my husband’s killer is to be brought to account. Please proceed with your questions, Mr Ravenscroft.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Montacute. Can I take you back to the ball at the Feathers? I know this must be rather difficult for you, and I will try and be as brief as possible. When the lamplighters came into the room, you were standing next to your husband?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you describe what happened next?’ asked Ravenscroft, leaning forward.

  ‘Well, my husband raised his glass and toasted the lamplighters, that is all.’

  ‘Did your husband drink from the glass?’

  ‘Yes, we all drank from our glasses.’

  ‘And what happened next?’

  ‘My husband and I watched the lamplighters go round the room as they extinguished the lights.’

  ‘I want you to think very carefully now, Mrs Montacute, before you answer my next question. You and your husband were standing at the head of the room, near the entrance, I believe?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘Can you remember if you were talking with anyone in particular at the time? Was there anyone close to you when the lights went out?’ asked Ravenscroft, beginning to feel that he was coming nearer to obtaining the vital information he sought.

  ‘I can’t recall anyone in particular. I remember we had just been talking with Major Onslow, shortly before.’

  ‘Major Onslow,’ repeated Ravenscroft, looking across at Crabb, who was taking notes in his pocket book. ‘You say you had just been speaking with Major Onslow?’

  ‘Yes, I believe that was so.’

  ‘Then what happened, Mrs Montacute?’

  ‘We all listened for the clock to finish striking, then everyone said Happy New Year to one another as the lights came back on.’

  ‘When the lights came on, was Major Onslow still with you, or had he moved away? This is very important.’

  ‘I cannot remember. I am so sorry.’

  ‘Come now, Ravenscroft, you can see that Mrs Montacute is distressed,’ interrupted Maurice Montacute.

  ‘When your husband reached out for his glass, can you recall whether it was on the table or whether he took it from perhaps a waiter?’ asked Ravenscroft, ignoring the interjection.

  Mrs Montacute thought deeply for a moment. ‘I think my husband’s glass was on the table. Yes, I am sure of it – he picked up the glass from off the table.’

  ‘The same glass he had been using only a minute or so before?’ asked Ravenscroft, pressing home his point.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When you stood there in the darkness, listening to the chimes, were you aware of anyone brushing past you, or anyone leaving or entering the room? Think carefully, Mrs Montacute.’

  ‘No. I don’t think there was …’ replied the widow hesitantly.

  ‘But you are not sure?’

  ‘Come now, Ravenscroft—’ protested Maurice.

  ‘But there was someone?’

  ‘I don’t know. Yes, I suppose so – in the dark, I thought someone brushed past me, but I could not see who it was,’ replied Edith, a strained expression on her face.

  ‘Do you think it was a man or a woman?’ enquired Ravenscroft.

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know. That’s all I can recall. It just felt as though someone had moved in front of us and had then left the room.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Montacute. I promise that I will not detain you for much longer. I wonder if you could tell me how you and Mr Montacute first met?’

  ‘It was in Rome, nearly two years ago. Nathaniel, my late husband, had just lost his second wife. He was travelling alone around Europe. On the “Grand Tour”, you might say. I was staying at the same hotel, near the Vatican City.’

  ‘And you were married shortly afterwards, I hear?’ said Ravenscroft.

  ‘Dear me, Inspector, you make it all sound so—’

  ‘Forgive me. I had not intended to suggest that there was anything unusual in your marriage,’ said Ravenscroft, leaning back in his chair and realizing that he had been less tactful than he had intended.

  ‘I acknowledge that there is – was – quite an age difference between my husband and myself, and I realize that my arrival here must have caused a few people to think that perhaps I had married Nathaniel for his money – but I can assure you, Inspector, that despite our age difference, we married for love and for love alone,’ explained Edith Montacute, becoming increasingly agitated.

  ‘I really do think you have overstepped the mark this time, Ravenscroft, and must ask you to leave before any more distress is caused to my stepmother,’ said Maurice Montacute, standing up.

  ‘Of course. Thank you, Mrs Montacute, for answering all my questions. I am sorry to have questioned you at a time like this, but I am sure you will agree that if we are to discover who killed your husband we must pursue all possible lines of enquiry,’ said Ravenscroft, observing that the young widow had already turned away.

  ‘Ravenscroft, I’ll see you both out,’ said Maurice.

  ‘That won’t be necessary, sir. We can find our own way. Thank you once again, Mrs Montacute,’ said Ravenscroft, giving a short bow before walking across to the door. He noticed that Edith Montacute did not look up as he and Crabb left the room.

  In the hallway, he paused to look upwards again at the fine portraits which hung on the wall overlooking the sweeping staircase.
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br />   ‘Rather a miserable, pathetic collection, I think you would agree?’

  Ravenscroft turned to see that the speaker was young Rupert Montacute, who had just entered the front of the building.

  ‘Good day to you, Mr Montacute.’

  ‘Spoke with you at the ball, didn’t I? Ravenswood, isn’t it?’

  ‘Ravenscroft,’ corrected the detective. ‘I was just admiring the portraits.’

  ‘Six generations of upstanding noble Montacutes. Every one of them pillars of society; dull, crusty old sticks. That’s the old man at the bottom, painted some twenty years ago when he was better looking. God, I suppose there will now have to be a new one, now that Maurice has become the head of the clan.’

  ‘But not one of yourself, sir?’ asked Ravenscroft.

  ‘God forbid! No room for second, dissolute sons on the grand staircase,’ laughed Rupert.

  ‘Your brother is the last of the line?’

  ‘I suppose he is. He’d better get on with it, and marry some dull, boring woman and produce some ghastly urchins, or there won’t be any more Montacutes to carry on after him.’

  ‘Unless you marry, sir,’ suggested Ravenscroft.

  ‘God forbid, Ravenswood! No woman of any importance is going to saddle up to me,’ replied Rupert, giving a casual laugh.

  ‘And what will you do now, sir?’

  ‘What do you mean, what will I do now?’

  ‘I mean, sir, what will you do now that your father is dead?’

  ‘Lord knows. Not given the matter much thought. Carry on as before, I suppose, if my wonderful stepbrother will indulge my profligate ways.’

  ‘Can you think of anyone who would have wanted your father dead?’ asked Ravenscroft, seeking to steer the conversation in another direction.

  ‘Half the town, Inspector, half the town,’ laughed Rupert.

  ‘Anyone in particular, Mr Montacute?’

  ‘Can’t think of anyone special. Look here, Ravenswood, how can you expect such a silly fellow as myself to remember important things like that?’

  ‘No, sir, I suppose not,’ said Ravenscroft, smiling and giving Crabb a sideways glance. ‘Can you remember, sir, where you were exactly in the room when your father collapsed?’

  ‘Fireplace. Yes, I remember, I was having a drink and talking to a pretty young lady by the fireplace when the lights went out.’

  ‘Who was that, sir?’ asked Crabb.

  ‘So your assistant does speak!’ said Rupert sarcastically.

  ‘Who was the young lady, sir?’ asked Ravenscroft firmly.

  ‘How the devil should I know? I’ve never seen her before. Wore a pink dress and had crooked teeth – that’s all I can remember.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Montacute. We won’t detain you any longer,’ said Ravenscroft, moving towards the door.

  ‘Glad to have been of help, Inspector Ravenswood,’ said Rupert, beginning to make his unsteady way up the staircase.

  ‘Well, those two brothers are certainly different from one another,’ said Crabb as the two men walked away from The Gables.

  ‘Same father, different mothers.’

  ‘You could smell the drink on Rupert.’

  ‘Yes, he is rather “fond of the bottle”, as they say. I find it interesting that although Rupert was clearly the worse for wear at the Lamplighters’ Ball, and appears to remember little about everyday events, he was very quick to tell us exactly where he was standing when his father was poisoned – yet he can’t remember the name of the person who he was talking with,’ said Ravenscroft, deep in thought.

  ‘Very convenient, if you ask me,’ added Crabb.

  ‘Did you also notice, Crabb, how protective Mr Maurice Montacute was of his stepmother? On three separate occasions, he interrupted my line of questioning when he thought I was being too bold with my enquiries.’

  ‘Could be something going on there, between Maurice and his stepmother?’ suggested Crabb.

  ‘You think Maurice might have killed his own father so he could inherit both the bank and his wife? That is a fascinating possibility, Crabb. So far in this case, the more people we question, the longer our list of suspects becomes—’

  ‘I think I can see one of the men from the station running in our direction, sir,’ interrupted Crabb.

  ‘Glad to have caught you, sir,’ said the breathless constable, coming to a halt. ‘Urgent message from Mr Catherwood. Can you come as quickly as you can, sir, to Dog Hill.’

  ‘Did Mr Catherwood say what he wanted?’ asked Ravenscroft.

  ‘No, sir – only that I was to find you as quickly as possible and bring you in the direction of the hill, and that Doctor Andrews was to come as well.’

  ‘Then you best lead on, Constable.’

  The three men made their way quickly towards the church. After walking through the churchyard, they turned the corner and joined the old trackway that gradually took them upwards, away from the town.

  ‘There’s Mr Catherwood, sir,’ indicated the constable, pointing ahead of them. As they drew near, one of Catherwood’s dogs began to bark at the group, until its master shouted the command for the animal to sit.

  ‘Good morning to you, Mr Catherwood,’ called out Ravenscroft.

  ‘Over here, man!’ Ravenscroft could see that Catherwood was standing near some of the undergrowth at the side of the track.

  ‘Found him not half an hour ago – or rather the dog did,’ said Catherwood, standing back.

  Ravenscroft stepped into the snow-covered bracken and looked down at the ground.

  ‘What is it, sir?’ asked an inquisitive Crabb.

  ‘It appears to be the body of a man, lying face downwards!’ replied Ravenscroft. ‘You say the dog found him?’

  ‘Yes, we were out for a walk. Dog went off into the undergrowth and started barking and pawing at the ground. I came over and discovered the body.’

  ‘Did you touch anything?’ asked Ravenscroft, surveying the deceased.

  ‘No. I came straight to the station.’

  ‘You did right, Mr Catherwood.’

  ‘I told the constable to fetch Andrews as well,’ said Catherwood.

  ‘Thank you, sir, you acted correctly. Well, whoever he is, he has been here for quite a while, I would say. The fact that there is a thin layer of earth on top of him rules out death from any natural causes, and I would say that he died several days ago.’

  ‘Could be Leewood?’ suggested Crabb.

  ‘Maybe, but this fellow looks as though he was too well dressed, in this long overcoat, to be Leewood – and, anyway, why would anyone want to kill Leewood?’ replied Ravenscroft.

  ‘Sir, I think Doctor Andrews has arrived,’ interrupted the constable.

  ‘Good morning, Ravenscroft, Catherwood. What have we got here?’ said Andrews, hurrying over to where the body lay.

  ‘He was uncovered by Mr Catherwood’s dog, Doctor Andrews,’ said Ravenscroft.

  ‘I see,’ said Andrews, crouching down by the side of the body. ‘Can you give me a hand to turn him over?’

  ‘Constable, go to the station, get the cart and return with some men. We will need to move the body,’ instructed Ravenscroft, before he and Crabb knelt down by the side of the corpse.

  The three men eased the body on to its back. ‘My God, he must have been here for quite a while!’ exclaimed Ravenscroft, taking a step backwards and bringing his handkerchief to his nose.

  Crabb took one glance at the dead man and turned away quickly.

  ‘It looks as though he was hit on the forehead by something hard. Part of the skull and face have caved in,’ said Andrews, bending over the body. ‘By the state of him, I would say that he has been here for at least a week, possibly longer. The intense cold weather and snow have helped to preserve the body to a certain extent, though I see that some animal has been gnawing at his ears and nose. One eye has completely gone.’

  ‘What description do we have of Leewood?’ said Ravenscroft, addressing Crabb and quickly distancing
himself from the body.

  ‘Approximately five feet two inches tall, stocky build, rugged appearance, deep scar on right cheek,’ replied Crabb, consulting his pocket book.

  ‘What can you tell us about this man, Doctor?’ asked Ravenscroft.

  ‘Not much without a proper examination, but I can at least tell you that this is not your escaped convict. This man must be over six feet in length, quite slender build, no sign of any scar on the face, and he looks far too well dressed to be an escaped prisoner,’ replied Andrews.

  ‘Have you ever seen the man before?’ asked Ravenscroft.

  ‘If you mean was he one of my patients, then the answer is no. I have never seen him before. I would guess that he is probably not from around these parts.’

  ‘Thank you, Doctor. We’ll take him to the mortuary for a closer examination.’

  Later that afternoon, Ravenscroft and Crabb stood in a cold, colourless room, staring down at the contours of the body that lay beneath a grey sheet.

  ‘Well, Doctor, now that you have completed your examination, what else can you tell me about the man?’ asked Ravenscroft, eager to know more about the mysterious stranger.

  ‘I don’t think I can add much to my initial examination. I would conclude that the age of the deceased was approximately forty years, fairly healthy for his years, no previous injuries – and that he was not a gentleman,’ replied Andrews, washing his hands in a bowl of red-coloured water.

  ‘Oh, why do you say that, sir?’ enquired Ravenscroft.

  ‘Although the deceased was well dressed, his attire, I would say, was more suited to the weather at this time of the year than due to any degree of wealth. In other words, although he dressed well, there was no show or display. His hands are quite rough but not unduly so, suggesting that although he was used to performing some manual labour he was not a common labourer. I would think that your unknown corpse was either a tradesman or servant, but someone of reasonable standing. The nature of the wound was quite severe, indicating that whoever struck him undoubtedly wanted to kill him. He certainly did not die as the result of a fall and hitting himself on a rock. Such was the force of the blow, he must have died straightaway. Your killer then dragged the body into the undergrowth, but because of the nature of the terrain could only partially cover the body with some loose earth. He might have remained undiscovered for several weeks had the dog not uncovered him. I’m sorry I cannot tell you any more.’