by Kerry Tombs
‘Thank you, Doctor Andrews. You have been most helpful and informative. So, Crabb, who do you think our mystery man is?’
‘Not Leewood, that is for certain. Although I suppose the convict might have killed him? There are no papers or money in the pockets except for a few coppers.’
‘I don’t think this is the work of Leewood. Had the escaped convict come across this man and struck him on the head with the intention of robbing him, he would have taken the coins in his pockets. He would also have taken the overcoat in order to keep warm and to conceal his own appearance. No, I don’t think Leewood had a hand in this,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘I can see your reasoning, sir.’
‘There are no papers or documents of any kind on his person?’
‘No, sir. I’ve searched every pocket of his clothes. There is nothing at all.’
‘That is interesting. I would say that after our killer struck the victim on the head, and before his crude attempt to conceal the body, he must have gone through all the poor man’s pockets, making sure that anything that could possibly help us to identify the body was removed. Our killer wanted to make sure that nothing could be traced back to him. Robbery does not appear to have been the motive for the killing, as otherwise all the coins would have been taken along with the coat. No, our murderer meant to kill this man, not steal his valuables.’
‘What a way to die – struck on the head and then left out in the wild for the animals to feed on,’ muttered Crabb.
‘At least we can be certain of one thing. This man has been dead for at least a week. He cannot therefore have anything to do with old Montacute’s murder.’
‘Strange that it has been quiet for several weeks, sir, since your arrival in the town, then we have two bodies in two days!’
‘Too much of a coincidence, you think? Perhaps Montacute had something to do with this man’s death? I wonder. However, we cannot proceed further until we have found out more about the victim. Who was he – and why did he come to Ledbury?’ said Ravenscroft, removing his spectacles and polishing them on his handkerchief.
‘If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll leave you to your deliberations,’ interrupted Andrews, putting on his coat.
‘Thank you, Doctor.’
Andrews left the room and closed the door behind him.
‘Why did he come to Ledbury? At Christmas as well,’ added Crabb.
‘Yes. Why Christmas? That is the intriguing thing.’
‘Coming home for the festive season to be reunited with friends and relations?’
‘But we have no reports of any missing persons at present.’
‘He could have been meeting someone important in the town?’
‘Yes, but why at Christmas?’
‘Perhaps he was not working over the holiday?’ suggested Crabb.
‘I think you have it, Crabb! This man came to Ledbury at Christmas because he was not employed over the festive season. Now, who could be given time off at Christmas?’ wondered Ravenscroft.
‘Schoolteachers?’
‘That is a possibility, although the coarse nature of his hands suggest that he was engaged in some light manual employment.’
‘Not tradesmen, or clergymen – it’s their busy time of the year.’
‘I agree. Servant? Andrews thought the man might have been a servant. Sometimes domestics are given a few days off at Christmas to visit relatives, although many are retained over the festive season by their employees. Then we have this coat. He was wearing a long, thick, expensive overcoat. That suggests to me that perhaps our mystery man was a servant who worked mainly out of doors.’
‘Like a coachman?’
‘Exactly! Our mystery man could have been a coachman. But all this is conjecture, of course, until we find out who he really is. Let’s go through his clothes again. There might just be something that our killer overlooked and forgot to take away with him. You take his trousers while I have another look at this expensive overcoat.’
‘There is nothing in the trousers, sir. I’ll go through his waistcoat pockets again,’ said Crabb.
‘This is interesting. There is a small hole in this pocket of the overcoat. I wonder if anything could have slipped through into the lining? Give me those scissors, Crabb. Now, you hold the coat while I enlarge the hole. Right, that should do. Now let us see whether there’s anything inside,’ said Ravenscroft, running his hand between the lining and the outer layer of the coat. ‘Yes, I can feel something here. Feels like a small piece of paper. Ah, here we are. Damp and screwed up. Lay it on the table and we will see if we can unravel it.’
‘Looks like a ticket of some kind,’ offered Crabb.
Ravenscroft gently prised the coloured paper apart and then held it up to the light. ‘See here, Crabb – we have what looks like the remaining portion of a return railway ticket from London Paddington to Ledbury. So that is where he originated from. Our victim came from London, and had every intention of returning there, but was unfortunately murdered before he could undertake the return journey.’
‘At least we now know where he came from.’
‘Yes, Crabb, but we are really no further forward. London is a big place. We still don’t know who he was and what he was doing here. I suppose there is nothing else in his other pockets?’
‘Nothing,’ sighed Crabb.
‘Then we are at a loss again. All we can do now is make enquiries at the railway station, to see if anyone can remember him arriving in the town.’
‘Right, sir.’
‘Well, Tom, I think that is all we can usefully gain from this gentleman. Let’s be on our way.’
‘Snowing again, sir,’ said Crabb, looking out of the window. ‘Good job we have our coats to keep us warm on a day like this.’
‘What was that you said?’ said Ravenscroft suddenly. ‘Yes. The coat! Of course. Look at this coat. What does it tell you, Crabb?’
‘Well, it’s an expensive coat, and well made. I wish I had an overcoat as good as this,’ replied Crabb, picking up the garment and examining it closely.
‘Precisely. If this man was a servant, possibly a coachman, the coat may have been bought for him. His employer bought the coachman not just any coat to keep his servant warm, but a special coat that would add to his own importance. In other words, he wanted to show London society that his coachman was well turned out.’
‘I’m with you, sir. Forrating, we call it, in Worcestershire.’
‘Let us see who made the coat. The label is quite worn but I think I can just make it out,’ said Ravenscroft, taking the coat nearer the window. ‘Yes, here we are. Gambit and Ashbury.’
‘Who are they, sir?’ asked a puzzled Crabb.
‘Gambit and Ashbury are one of the finest tailors in London. I believe their premises are located somewhere in the vicinity of St James’s. Only the very rich can afford to be fitted out by them.’
‘I knew that coat was worth a lot of money when I first saw it.’
‘I have a feeling that if we can find out the identity of the deceased, and why he came to Ledbury, we may then be able to discover whether there is any connection between the death of this man and the murder of Nathaniel Montacute.’
‘However are we going to do that, sir?’
Ravenscroft remained deep in thought for a few seconds before finally speaking. ‘Get your notebook out, Crabb, and make a note of the size, then cut a small portion off the bottom of the coat.’
‘Whatever for, sir?’
‘Tomorrow I intend returning to London to pay a visit on Messrs Gambit and Ashbury!’
INTERLUDE
LONDON, 2 JANUARY 1889
Late in the afternoon, on the second day of the New Year, a tall, well dressed gentleman alighted from a cab in a quiet suburb of London. To the casual observer it might be supposed that the man in question had been in the army in his younger days, for such was his bearing: precise moustache, neatly combed-back black hair and upright stature. Others would have agreed t
hat he was indeed a gentleman of some wealth and standing, for his overcoat, gloves and cane were all evidence to that fact.
The man reached into his coat pocket and gave the driver of the cab a silver shilling, with instructions that he was to keep the change.
‘Thank you, governor,’ replied the cabman, touching the side of his cap before urging the horse forward.
The gentleman watched as the vehicle turned the corner and disappeared from view, then withdrew into the shadow of one of the tall buildings so that he could ascertain whether his arrival had been noticed.
‘Only two pence tonight, darling. Special rate for the New Year!’
The voice made him turn suddenly. The speaker was a middle-aged woman, scantily clad despite the cold weather, who seemed intent in flaunting herself before him.
The man raised his walking cane and threatened to bring it down upon the woman’s head. ‘’Ere, no offence,’ she said, backing away quickly. ‘There’s no need for that. We’ve all got to make a living, ain’t we?’
‘Here’s your money. Now go away!’ he replied, flinging a coin down on to the pavement before quickly moving on. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself.
‘Bless you, sir, may God look after you.’
He turned the corner and found himself in a square of fashionable Georgian houses, then made his way past the dimly lit gas lamps until he reached an insignificant-looking brick-built building at the end of the street, which bore the words West Kensington Freemasons Society on a brass plaque.
He stood still, listening and watching for any sign which would suggest that he might have been followed, then after a few seconds rang the bell at the front entrance to the building.
The heavy oak door was opened by a grey-haired servant in livery uniform. ‘Good evening, sir. How can I help you?’
‘My name is Major Monk,’ he replied.
‘Of course, sir. You are expected. Please step inside. If you would care to take a seat in the hall, I will inform the gentlemen of your arrival.’
‘I would prefer to stand,’ he replied, gazing at the old portraits that hung down one side of the hallway.
The servant disappeared from view, leaving him alone with only the sound of a ticking clock for company. As the minutes passed and the servant did not return, he grew uneasy, took out his pocket watch and examined its hands, and paced up and down the uneven floor. He had not wanted this. He was not used to being at such a disadvantage. Then he reminded himself that carrying out someone else’s wishes always contained an element of undue risk. That was the price he had to pay for being at another’s service.
The door opened and the servant finally returned. ‘We are so sorry to have kept you waiting, sir. If you would care to follow me, the gentlemen are ready to see you now.’
Monk followed the servant down the drab-looking corridor, some part of his mind telling him that he should withdraw now before he became further involved, but he also knew that some new challenge would be awaiting him and that some financial gain would be his. He had carried out his mission as he had been instructed. They would not be able to fault him on its execution. Evidently they would not have called him back if there was not further work to be undertaken.
‘Major Monk, gentlemen,’ said the servant, opening the door at the bottom end of the passageway. He entered the room, and sought to adjust his eyes to the dim light which struggled to escape from the partially lit oil lamp in the centre of a large table.
‘Ah, Major Monk, we are so sorry to have kept you waiting. Do please take a seat,’ instructed an elderly, quiet voice.
Monk said nothing and accepted the empty chair that had been left for him at the bottom of the table, placed his gloves and cane before him, and strained to see the half dozen or so faces that were seated before him in the half light of the room.
‘For the sake of my fellow Brothers, I would be obliged if you would inform us of your progress concerning the man Robertson,’ asked the elderly gentleman who had spoken previously.
Monk cleared his throat. He hated giving any account of himself and his movements to anyone else, but he realized the importance of the occasion. The fact that he could not clearly see the faces of the figures at the other end of the table, however, disturbed him. He had been used to carrying out work for singular individuals and upon his own territory. He distrusted organizations, and despised the affluence and power of the gentlemen who now wanted him to do their bidding. ‘After being informed about the man Robertson, I kept watch on the said person at his lodgings and at his place of work for two days without discovering anything of an untoward nature. Early on the morning of 24 December I found that the gentleman had not returned to his rooms the previous evening, and upon further enquiry I learnt that he had purchased a return railway ticket to the market town of Ledbury.’
‘Where is Ledbury?’ interrupted one of the faces.
‘I believe it lies in the county of Herefordshire,’ replied the main speaker. ‘Please proceed if you would, Major.’
‘I journeyed to Ledbury, where I discovered that Robertson had arrived three hours previously. Nevertheless I was able to prevent his return to the railway station later that evening – and was able to carry out your instructions. I can report that he will not be returning to the capital, as you so wished,’ reported Monk in his usual, unemotional manner.
‘Excellent,’ said another voice from the far end of the table.
‘You were careful to remove all traces from his person, as to his identity?’ enquired a fourth speaker. ‘It is important that the trail should not lead back to us in any way.’
‘I can assure you, gentlemen, that should the body be found, there would be no way in which an identification could be made,’ replied Monk, brushing his moustache with the side of one of his fingers.
The main speaker whispered a few words with one or two of his companions. Monk looked down at the floor uneasily. He had fulfilled his task. They would not be able to complain that he had not been efficient in his work.
‘You have done well, Monk. You will find an envelope before you on the table. That is the remainder of your fee,’ said the first voice.
Monk reached out for the envelope.
‘However, we have further need of your services. It has now come to our attention that Robertson was in the possession of certain documents. A search has been made of both his place of work and his lodgings, but the papers have not been found. We can only conclude therefore that Robertson took the papers with him to Ledbury,’ continued the first voice.
‘I can assure you that I made a thorough search of his person. They were not upon him.’
‘You state that Robertson arrived in Ledbury three hours before yourself?’
‘I believe that to be the case.’
‘Then clearly it can be assumed that he has left these papers, documents, with someone in the town, you would agree?’ interjected a new voice.
‘That must have been so.’
‘It is important, Monk, that these papers are recovered as soon as possible. They are of the utmost importance and must be returned to us,’ said another, more solemn voice from the end of the table. ‘We want you to return to Ledbury tomorrow and locate the documents. You will be paid well. Three times your previous fee, payable when we receive the papers.’
‘May I enquire as to the nature of these papers?’ enquired Monk.
A long silence followed, until eventually the last speaker resumed. ‘The papers are of a highly sensitive nature. They must not fall into another’s hands. The very safety of the realm depends on their return. That is all you need to know. Suffice it to say that should these papers ever be made public, the lives and careers of certain prominent political and royalist persons could be put at risk. I trust we have made ourselves clear?’
‘I see,’ replied Monk, casually brushing a hair off the knee of his finely pressed trousers.
‘You will undertake this assignment not just for the good of th
e Brotherhood, but for the security of your country as well,’ continued the speaker.
‘I will be pleased to carry out your request, gentlemen.’
‘Excellent. I knew that we could depend on you, Monk.’
‘We must remind you, Major, that nothing must be disclosed, to anyone, either about your mission, or about this meeting here tonight – which of course did not take place,’ said the main speaker in a firm manner, leaning forwards across the table so that Monk could see the reflection of the flickering flame in the lenses of his glasses.
‘You have my assurance, gentlemen.’
‘Then there is nothing more to be said. At all costs recover those papers. We wish you well, Major,’ said the main speaker, sitting back in his chair and indicating that the meeting was at an end.
Monk rose from his chair, picked up his gloves and cane and made his way out of the room. The manservant conducted him to the main entrance of the building.
‘A cold night, sir,’ remarked the servant as he opened the outer door.
Monk said nothing as he stepped outside, and retraced his steps quickly back along the tree-lined square.
Back in the room he had just left, the senior figure was addressing the rest of the group. ‘I do not feel that we can entirely trust Major Monk. He knows far too much about our affairs.’
‘What do you suggest?’ asked one of the speakers.
‘Should he recover the documents, we would have little further need of his services. It would then be of the utmost importance that he should never be traced back to us. We should ensure that this last remaining loophole be closed.’
‘I agree, Brother,’ concurred the speaker.
‘Our Major Monk might be tempted to take the papers elsewhere. I saw the greed in his eyes. We cannot afford to let that happen. Fortunately, Brother 127 resides in Ledbury. I will contact him by letter tonight, with instructions that he is to keep us fully informed as to the major’s progress.’
