by Kerry Tombs
‘Don’t think much of this sherry,’ muttered Crabb.
‘I think I’m inclined to agree with you,’ replied Ravenscroft, discreetly returning his glass to the table. ‘I don’t know what it is but they always seem to serve the poorest kind of sherry at funerals.’
‘Eats are not too bad though,’ whispered Crabb, helping himself to another sandwich.
‘I think it best if we occupy these two chairs in the corner, where we won’t be in the way and where we can observe the behaviour of the people as the will is read. I must say that I am very intrigued to see what the documents says, and to find out more from Mr Midwinter later as to why the old man drew up this latest document not more than six months ago.’
‘You think the new will might give us some clues as to who might have murdered Montacute?’ asked Crabb.
‘You never know. People have often been known to kill off their relations in a desperate attempt to acquire their wealth. There is nothing like the prospect of a handsome legacy to stir the crooked church mouse into direct action. Ah, I think Mr Midwinter is about to begin.’
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said the solicitor, clearing his throat, ‘if you would care to be seated for the reading of the will.’
One by one the assembled group seated themselves round the large mahogany dining table.
‘Before we begin, I should perhaps explain that Inspector Ravenscroft and his assistant are with us today as observers. As you know, the inspector is investigating the untimely demise of Mr Montacute—’ began Midwinter.
‘Damned interference, I call it!’ growled Onslow, giving the detective a severe look.
‘I have no objections to Mr Ravenscroft’s presence,’ said Maurice, ‘and I am sure that Mrs Montacute does not mind either.’
Edith Montacute gave a brief nod of her head.
‘Now we come to the reading of the will—’
‘Excuse me, sir,’ said the maid suddenly entering the room, ‘but there is a gentleman who is at the door and insists that he is present for the reading.’
‘Who on earth—’ began Maurice, but before he could complete the sentence, Catherwood strode into the room.
‘What the deuce!’ protested Onslow.
‘Good morning to you all,’ said Catherwood, walking quickly over to one of the chairs and seating himself.
‘Look here, Catherwood, this is most irregular. You have no business being here,’ said Maurice, standing up from the table.
‘I have every right to be here, Mr Montacute. Your father was my business partner for a number of years, and as such I have every intention of hearing the reading of his will.’
‘My father dissolved the partnership many years ago,’ protested Maurice.
‘That’s as may be, but I still have an interest in the hearing of the will,’ replied Catherwood, leaning back in his chair.
‘This looks to be fun!’ interjected Rupert, smiling.
‘Be quiet, Rupert! Mr Midwinter?’ said Maurice, turning to the solicitor for assistance.
‘I agree, it is somewhat unusual, but as a will is a public document, I cannot see that we can prevent Mr Catherwood from being present.’
‘Very well,’ sighed Maurice, regaining his seat. ‘Please proceed, Mr Midwinter.’
‘Interesting, sir,’ whispered Crabb in the corner of the room.
Midwinter adjusted his spectacles and after clearing his throat, looked down at the document before him and began to read. ‘“This is the Last Will and Testament of me, Nathaniel Jacob Montacute, banker and owner of The Gables in Ledbury, in the county of Herefordshire, made this day August 1, in the year 1888, the fifty-first year of the reign of our sovereign Queen Victoria. I give my soul to Almighty God and desire that my body be placed inside the Montacute family vault situated in the churchyard of Ledbury church in the county of Herefordshire. Firstly, I do appoint my good friend, Major Charles Onslow, and my solicitor, Anthony Midwinter, as executors of my will – and I give (free of duty) to the said Charles Onslow and Anthony Midwinter the sum of fifty pounds each in friendship and for their duties, as executors of this, my will. Secondly, I give the sum of twenty-five pounds each to Philip Rivers and Agnes Chambers, in gratitude for their many years of loyal and faithful service. Thirdly, I leave the sum of one hundred pounds to the almshouses of St Katherine in the town of Ledbury, the money to be invested in South African securities and the interest to be shared between the inmates on Easter Day of each year. Fourthly, to my former business partner, James Catherwood of Ledbury, I leave the sum of one pound exactly—”
‘Serves you right, Catherwood!’ interrupted Onslow, giving a hearty laugh.
Catherwood said nothing but Ravenscroft thought he detected the flicker of a brief, sarcastic smile across the Yorkshireman’s face.
‘“… James Catherwood of Ledbury I leave the sum of one pound exactly, in recognition of the disservice he has caused me. Fifthly, to my son, Maurice Montacute, I leave my partnership in Cocks and Biddulph, the bank of Ledbury, as I know that he will carry on the traditions of the said bank with his usual diligence and fortitude. Finally, I leave the rest of my estate, including my house The Gables in Ledbury, my stocks and shares and all my worldly possessions to my wife, Edith Montacute née Henshaw, to hold the same absolutely for her own sole and separate use. Signed this first day of August, eighteen eighty-eight, Nathaniel Jacob Montacute.”’
A long silence followed as Anthony Midwinter looked up from his reading and began to wipe his glasses on a large pocket handkerchief.
‘Thank you, Mr Midwinter. Gentlemen, if you will excuse me,’ said Maurice, suddenly standing up from his seat and beginning to leave the room, his face strained and ashen.
‘Maurice!’ called out Edith, but Maurice had already closed the door behind him.
‘Gentlemen, Mrs Montacute. I bid you good day,’ said Catherwood, also standing up and about to make his departure. ‘I thank you, Mr Midwinter.’
‘Well, that’s a fine kettle of fish,’ whispered Crabb, as the other members rose from the table.
‘Lord bless the master!’ exclaimed Chambers the cook, beginning to cry. ‘I knew he would always remember us.’
‘Come now, Mrs Chambers,’ said Rivers the gamekeeper, placing his arm round the cook’s shoulders. ‘That won’t do. Let us go down to the kitchens and toast the master’s health.’
‘If you will excuse me, I must go and see if I can find Maurice,’ said Edith, quickly leaving the room.
‘Major, if you would care to accompany me back to the town?’ said Andrews.
‘Yes. Right, could do with a walk. Clear the air and all that. Good day to ye,’ replied the major as he and the doctor departed.
‘Bloody old skinflint, left me nothing!’ said Rupert, banging his fist down on the table. ‘Nothing! His son. I tell you, Midwinter, it is not to be borne!’
‘I’m sorry, Rupert. There was nothing I could do for you. I tried to reason with your father—’ began the solicitor.
‘For God’s sake!’ exclaimed Rupert, striding out of the room, his face red with anger.
Ravenscroft and Crabb rose from their seats and joined Midwinter.
‘Poor Rupert. He seems to have taken it quite hard. He is the second son, though, I suppose,’ said the solicitor, gathering up his papers.
‘I thought Maurice took it hard as well,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Yes, one would have thought that his father would have provided more for his first son, although he will want for nothing as he has inherited his father’s share in the bank.’
‘Looks as though Mrs Montacute gets practically everything,’ said Crabb, replacing his notebook in the top pocket of his tunic.
‘Mr Midwinter, you say that Nathaniel Montacute drew up the will last August, only a few months ago. Did he give any reason as to why he was making a new will?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘None. He just asked me to call upon him one day, and requested that I draw up the new will. I think he was
anxious that his new wife would be provided for in the unexpected early eventuality of his own death.’
‘The will seems particularly harsh in its treatment of both Maurice and Rupert. Rupert is obviously the younger son and was not on good terms with his father, but Maurice has been left only the partnership in the bank.’
Midwinter said nothing as he replaced the will inside his briefcase.
‘Mr Midwinter, Nathaniel Montacute obviously made an earlier will. Can I ask how this present will differs from any former document?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Mr Montacute drew up his previous will some ten or twelve years ago. In that document he provided for his then wife, Enid, should she outlive him – and I believe he was more generous towards Maurice, leaving both The Gables and his investments to his son on condition that he looked after Enid during her lifetime.’
‘That is very interesting. And Rupert, how did he fare in this earlier will?’
‘I believe he was again left nothing. I think the rest of the terms of the will were the same, with bequests to Onslow, myself, Rivers and Chambers – and of course the bequest to the St Katherine almshouses.’
‘Thank you, Mr Midwinter. You have been most helpful. I think my constable and I will be on our way now. Thank you for allowing us to attend the reading,’ said Ravenscroft, beginning to leave the room.
‘Glad to have been of some assistance, although I fail to see how Nathaniel’s will can assist you in your enquiries into his murder.’
‘We will see. Good day, Mr Midwinter.’
‘Er, there is just one more thing before you go, Inspector. Something has been lying upon my conscience and disturbing me for a few days now. I wonder whether you could find the time to call upon me at my offices this afternoon, gentlemen?’
‘Yes, certainly, Mr Midwinter.’
‘It is rather difficult to talk here, you understand. Would two o’clock be convenient?’
‘Well, sir, and what did you make of the old banker’s will?’ asked Crabb, helping himself to another piece of cheese in the snug at the Feathers.
‘It was certainly a most interesting document. The only one who stands to benefit substantially from the will is Mrs Montacute. Maurice was quite clearly upset when he learnt that he had acquired neither The Gables nor his father’s money, although his share of the bank must amount to something. Poor Rupert stood to gain nothing from either the new will or the old will – and I wonder why his father treated him so harshly?’ replied Ravenscroft, warming his hands in front of the roaring fire.
‘Probably his father thought that Rupert would only drink away any monies left to him.’
‘Possibly but it was unusual for him not to have been provided for in some small way. It was almost as though the old man was punishing him for being his son.’
‘As neither of the two sons stood to gain by old Montacute’s death, there would have been no reason for either of them to have killed him,’ suggested Crabb, before taking a drink of his ale.
‘And likewise we can discount Rivers, Mrs Chambers and Major Onslow, as they only received small sums and had nothing to gain by Montacute’s death. Then there was Catherwood. Why the devil did he turn up for the reading? He surely cannot have expected anything from his old enemy. The pound he was left was clearly meant as an insult. No, as I said, the only person who stood to gain by Montacute’s death was his wife,’ said Ravenscroft, sitting down at the table and breaking a piece of bread.
‘You think she killed him?’
‘If she did, she would not have been the first wife who poisoned her husband in order to obtain his wealth – but she was clearly well situated and provided for by her husband and seems genuinely saddened by his death. One can understand why the old banker changed his will so that his new young bride would be taken care of when he died. After all, Montacute was over sixty. No, I think you could say that none of the people present at the reading today would have killed old Montacute in the expectation of becoming richer as a result.’
‘With the exception of Catherwood,’ interjected Crabb.
‘Yes, I agree with you, Tom, but although Catherwood stood to gain nothing financially by the old man’s death, he could still have acted out or revenge or hatred.’
‘There is still Leewood.’
‘Indeed, yes, Leewood. Although I cannot see Leewood resorting to poison, he nevertheless cannot be ruled out until he has been secured and questioned. I had hoped that the reading of the will would have provided us with some indication as to who murdered old Nathaniel Montacute, but I have to confess that the mystery appears to grow cloudier with each hour that passes. We seem to be no further forward in our investigations than when we first began,’ said Ravenscroft, sighing and looking into the flames of the fire.
‘What I can’t understand, sir, is what has this man Robertson to do with all this business?’
‘If I knew the answer to that question, I’m sure I would be halfway to solving Montacute’s murder.’
‘I wonder what old Midwinter the solicitor wants with us?’ asked Crabb.
‘Perhaps he has some knowledge about the Montacutes to impart to us? Let us hope so. We could do with any assistance in this case. Anyway, it is not quite two yet – still time for another tankard, and that leg of cold lamb looks inviting!’
‘Do come in, gentlemen, out of the cold,’ said Anthony Midwinter, ushering his two guests into his office. ‘That will be all, Perkins, you may go now. See that we are not disturbed.’
‘Very well, Mr Midwinter,’ said the clerk, leaving the room and closing the door behind him.
‘You have a good view of the main street,’ said Ravenscroft, crossing over to the window and surveying the scene before him.
‘Do you know, I never look out of the window. I suppose I have been here for so many years I have long ago taken the view for granted. Do please be seated, gentlemen,’ said the solicitor, seating himself behind his large desk.
‘Thank you, Mr Midwinter. You implied this morning that you had something to tell us – something which you said was troubling you?’ asked Ravenscroft, as he and Crabb each drew up a chair.
‘Yes indeed. I have been wrestling with my conscience for several days now.’
‘You have some information regarding the poisoning of Mr Montacute?’ said Ravenscroft hopefully.
‘Oh no, it is nothing to do with Nathaniel’s death. I am referring to the stranger, Robertson,’ said Midwinter, scratching his head.
‘You knew the man?’
‘Well, I may – or may not. I’m very sorry, Inspector. This is all rather confusing.’
‘Perhaps you should start at the beginning,’ suggested Ravenscroft, trying to put the troubled solicitor at his ease.
‘It was on Christmas Eve. Rather late in the afternoon. Perkins, my clerk, and I were just about to finish work when a gentleman, who was previously unknown to us, entered our office and asked if he might have a few words with me.’
‘Did this gentleman give a name, sir?’ asked Crabb, taking out his notebook.
‘No, I’m afraid not. In fact, he was rather anxious that he should not disclose his identity.’
‘Can you describe the gentleman to us, sir?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Well, he was about forty years of age, I would say. Quite tall, slim build and he spoke with a London accent.’
‘How was he dressed?’
‘He was dressed in a long overcoat and hat, much the same as many other people at this time of the year.’
‘Can you tell us what this stranger wanted with you?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘He was most desirous of leaving a large packet of papers with me for safekeeping,’ said Anthony, leaning back in his chair and pausing for his words to take effect.
‘Please go on, sir,’ said Ravenscroft, giving Crabb a sideways glance.
‘He said I was to look after the envelope until his return on 1 May, when I would be rewarded for my trouble, and that if he did not return by th
at date, I was to take the envelope to the bank – Cocks and Biddulph – and give it to the senior partner there. I remember he was quite insistent on this latter point. I was to give the envelope to the senior partner, and to no one else.’
‘The senior partner in this case being Mr Nathaniel Montacute?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Did the gentleman say anything else, or give any other instructions?’ asked Ravenscroft, becoming more and more interested as the narrative unfolded.
‘That was all. Oh, he mentioned something about the papers being very important.’
‘Can you recall his exact words? They could prove important to our investigations.’
The old solicitor thought deeply for a moment or two. ‘I think his exact words were that the papers were of a private and sensitive nature, and that if their contents were revealed the very fabric of our society would be put at risk. Yes, I think that was what he said – or something very much like it.’
‘Thank you, Mr Midwinter, this is proving most interesting. May I ask where you have kept the envelope?’
‘In my safe, over there, gentlemen,’ replied Midwinter hesitantly.
‘I wonder whether we might examine the envelope?’
The solicitor rose from his desk, walked over to the safe, turned his key in the lock and swung open the heavy door. ‘Here we are, on the shelf, where I left it on Christmas Eve.’
‘May I examine the envelope?’ asked Ravenscroft, rising from his chair.
‘You may examine the outside of the envelope, Inspector, but at this time I cannot permit you to open the packet unless you can prove to me that the dead man Robertson was indeed the stranger that called on me. Without that confirmation, I am still bound to carry out my client’s instructions.’
‘Begging your pardon, Mr Midwinter, but your client is presently lying on a mortuary slab,’ said Crabb, looking up from his notebook.
