by Kerry Tombs
Sanderson nodded his head. Ravenscroft was beginning to feel uneasy trying to look the old lamplighter directly in the face, and turned away. ‘Tell me, Mr Sanderson, you know that we have been investigating this case for some days now. Why have you waited all this time to come forward? This information could have helped us a great deal had we learned of it earlier.’
‘I been staying with me aunt in Hereford. She’s a bit craiky and needs looking after.’
‘Craiky?’
‘Bit weak, on account of her being old,’ said the old man, stroking his long beard and winking one eye. ‘Hereford folk live to an old age, but they is always craiky. Her husband he were very craiky. Been like that for years. Could hardly get out of bed in a morning.’
‘I see. So you have been away in Hereford for a few days, looking after your aunt, and that is why you have not come forward until now?’ said Ravenscroft, anxious to break into the lamplighter’s flow of words.
‘She been a-faltering of late. Bit giddling on her feet. Not likely to see next Gooding Day.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ replied Ravenscroft, attempting to suppress a smile.
‘Well, that be all, sir. I’d best be on my way,’ said the old lamplighter, struggling to his feet.
‘Thank you for coming in, Mr Sanderson. It is much appreciated. If you remember anything else unusual about the evening, please don’t hesitate to come and see me again,’ said Ravenscroft, standing up and shaking the old man’s hand.
‘I wish you a heart-well new year, sir.’
‘And to you, Mr Sanderson. Mind how you go.’
The old man left the room, leaving Ravenscroft deep in thought. Who had been the mysterious old woman who had been seen by the lamplighter outside the ballroom shortly before Montacute had been killed? Had she played any role in his death? If not, what had she been doing there on that night – and furthermore had she seen anyone either leave or enter the room when the lights had been extinguished? If so, the woman could have valuable evidence to impart. Ravenscroft knew that before any of these questions could be answered, he would have to discover the identity of the woman. Sanderson had mentioned that the elderly woman had been coughing a great deal. He had recently encountered one such person who seemed to fit the bill. After a minute or two of further deliberation, he rang the bell on his desk and instructed the constable to bring Leewood up from the cells.
‘Sit down, Leewood,’ instructed Ravenscroft.
The prisoner threw Ravenscroft a scowl before seating himself reluctantly on the chair.
‘Now then, Leewood, I have a few questions to ask you before I send you back to Hereford gaol. It will be in your best interests to answer them as honestly as you can. I will know if you are lying, and if that is the case you will face further charges of police obstruction. The best thing you can do now is to tell us all you know. If I tell the prison governor that you have been co-operative, then things may not go so badly for you. I trust you understand what I am saying?’ said Ravenscroft, speaking slowly and with determination.
‘I didn’t harm that lad, Mr Ravenscroft,’ protested Leewood, leaning forward and eager to accept the offer that had been made to him.
‘No one said that you did.’
‘I just saw him in the wood. I had nothing to do with him.’
‘I believe you. Now, Leewood, when you escaped from prison you decided to make your way back to Ledbury?’
The prisoner nodded and looked down at the floor.
‘Why did you return to the town?’
‘To see my wife – and me mother. That’s why I escaped from Hereford.’
‘And did you see them?’
‘Saw my mother. Wife had left and gone off with another. Taken babby with her, the ungrateful harlot.’
‘That’s where you got the bread and cheese from – your mother?’
The convict nodded again.
‘You have been living in the hut in the woods since your return to the town?’
‘Yes.’
‘You couldn’t expect to stay there for ever, could you?’ asked Ravenscroft, leaning forward.
‘No. I just wanted to see my family, Mr Ravenscroft. That’s all I wanted to do. I was going to give myself up today anyway. Honest I was. You have to believe me,’ replied Leewood in a pleading voice.
‘Tell me about Mr Nathaniel Montacute,’ said Ravenscroft, ignoring the convict’s last remarks.
‘What do you want to know about him for? He was the beak that sent me down!’
‘You protested your innocence at the time?’
‘Yes, and that were right, Mr Ravenscroft. I never did it.’
‘Mr Montacute thought otherwise, and when he passed sentence you made a disturbance, and said that one day you would get even with him.’
‘I might have said something like that,’ admitted Leewood reluctantly.
‘I assure you that you were quite vocal in your threats.’
‘Yes, well, I suppose I was angry at the time. Wouldn’t you be, if you had been sent down for a crime that you didn’t commit?’
‘And did you get even with him?’
‘Who?’
‘Nathaniel Montacute. Did you set out to kill him, upon your return to Ledbury?’
‘No! No, I never laid a hand on him,’ said Leewood, crying out.
‘Well, someone did. He was poisoned at the Lamplighters’ Ball. Did you poison Mr Montacute?’
‘No! I ain’t seen him since I were sent to gaol.’
‘We only have your word for that.’
‘You have to believe me!’ protested Leewood. ‘I didn’t mean no harm to the gent when I said those words. I never hurt anyone in my life. Where could I have got poison from?’
‘Perhaps your mother procured the poison for you – and then on the night of the Lamplighters’ Ball you slipped into the ballroom of the Feathers and dropped the poison into the old banker’s glass when the lights went out, whilst your mother kept watch outside?’
‘No. I don’t know what you are talking about. My mother has nothing to do with this,’ replied the agitated convict, staring into Ravenscroft’s eyes. ‘I didn’t kill anyone. You have to believe me.’
The two men looked at one another in silence; Leewood desperate to express his innocence, Ravenscroft unsure whether the felon was telling him the truth.
Suddenly Ravenscroft sprang to his feet. ‘That will be all for now. Constable, will you take the prisoner back to the cells.’
‘You have to believe me. I didn’t kill Montacute. I’m innocent,’ pleaded the convict.
‘Constable, escort the prisoner from the room,’ instructed Ravenscroft, turning away and staring out of the narrow window.
‘I tells you, I didn’t do it! Why don’t you believe me?’
A few minutes later, Ravenscroft paused at the entrance to Smoke Alley. Now that he had spoken with Leewood, it was time to question the mother again. He was convinced that it had been Mrs Leewood who had been seen by Sanderson the lamplighter, loitering outside the ballroom of the Feathers shortly before the lights had been extinguished, and he was anxious to learn why she had been there that night, what part she had played in the banker’s death and whether she had acted alone or in conjunction with her son. Perhaps the mystery of Montacute’s death was at last about to be revealed.
After taking a deep breath, he strode down the darkened passageway.
‘Give us another coin, governor!’ cried out the boy he had encountered on his previous visit, eagerly running up towards him.
Ravenscroft brushed the lad aside, marched into the courtyard and, after briefly banging his fist on the wood, pushed open the door and entered the room.
‘Thought you would be back,’ muttered the voice of the old woman somewhere in the darkness. Ravenscroft briefly recoiled from the same damp, fetid smell that assailed his senses.
‘Mrs Leewood, I have some news for you,’ he said, seeking to adjust his eyes to the gloom of the room, as the cat at
his feet let out a loud squawk.
‘Suppose you’ve caught him?’ coughed the old woman.
‘We found your son up in Coneygree Wood. He was hiding out in an old hut that used to belong to the woodmen,’ Ravenscroft answered as he neared the chair and looked down at the old woman. The cat moved to a corner of the room, glaring at the intruder and hissing as it did so.
‘You’re going to send my boy back to Hereford then?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘My lad has done nothing. He should never have been put away in the first place.’
‘Mrs Leewood, what were you doing at the Feathers on New Year’s Eve?’ said Ravenscroft, ignoring the last remark and anxious to confront her with the knowledge he had just gained that morning.
The old woman let out a loud laugh before being convulsed by a series of deep coughs.
‘Can I get you some water?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Don’t need no water.’
‘Has Doctor Andrews been to see you?’
‘Sent him packing! What need have I for a doctor? Nothing any doctor can do for me. I ain’t long for this world,’ grumbled Mrs Leewood.
‘What were you doing at the Feathers on New Year’s Eve?’ repeated Ravenscroft.
‘I heard you the first time!’ The woman scowled. ‘What would I be doing at the Feathers? Feathers is only for the toffs. What use would I have for such a place?’
‘You were seen, standing on the landing, outside the ballroom, shortly before midnight when Mr Montacute was poisoned.’
‘It’s a lie! Who says I was there?’
‘Never mind who saw you. I have a reliable witness who can state quite clearly that he saw you standing outside the ballroom. It will be best for both you and your son if you come right out with the truth. What were you doing there?’ asked Ravenscroft, adopting a more forceful tone.
‘Curse you!’
‘Were you waiting for your son to arrive, so that you could slip him the poison that you had procured?’
‘Eh? What are you talking about? I had nothing to do with any poison.’
‘Or perhaps you did the deed yourself, creeping into the room when the lights went out, pouring the poison into the glass, before making good your escape?’
The woman began a coughing fit again as Ravenscroft continued with his questioning. ‘You certainly had cause to hate Mr Montacute. It was him, after all, who had sent your son to prison for a crime which you believed he had not committed. You must have been waiting for the right opportunity to get your revenge. How you hated Mr Montacute! Planning all the time how you would do the deed. Then you suddenly heard about the Lamplighters’ Ball, and you remembered how they extinguished the lights to see in the New Year. What a wonderful opportunity to creep into the room. No one would be sure to see you, and you could be away again before the lights were relit. It must have been quite easy to have committed such a crime?’
‘All right! All right!’ protested the woman through her coughs. ‘Yes, I was there, but I don’t know anything about any poisoning.’
‘I find that very difficult to believe,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Believe what you like!’ retorted the old woman.
‘If you didn’t poison Mr Montacute then what were you doing at the Feathers that night?’
‘Curse you damned police! I was outside the room waiting for them to come out, so that they could have charity on such an old woman as myself.’
‘You were hoping that the guests would give you money as they left?’ asked Ravenscroft, noting the bitterness and anger in her voice.
‘What else could I do? How else was I to get money to buy food for my boy?’ replied the old woman, coughing before spitting on to the floor.
‘So you were there, begging for money. I did not see you in the room.’
‘It would have been bad luck to have gone in. Then I heard them cry out that old Montacute had been poisoned, so I left as soon as I could. Got what was coming to him, I say!’
‘How long were you standing outside the room?’
‘About ten minutes.’
‘Mrs Leewood, my next question is a very important one, and I would appreciate an honest reply. When you were standing outside the room, did you see anyone going in, before the lights were put out, other than the lamplighters?’ asked Ravenscroft, realizing that the woman was probably telling the truth and adopting a more conciliatory tone in his questioning.
‘No.’
‘When the lights went out, were you aware of anyone either entering or leaving the room?’
‘No one.’
‘And as the lights came back on, did you notice if anyone left the room in a hurry?’
‘I’ve just said, there was no one!’ growled the old woman, before coughing and spitting once more on to the floor.
‘You’re absolutely sure on that point?’
‘Curse you, listen to what I says!’
Ravenscroft looked away, and suddenly became aware that a large black rat was climbing out of the sink. As it made its way down on to the floor, the cat quickly pounced on the creature, and the noise of the ensuing battle engulfed the room.
‘Thank you, Mrs Leewood. I wish you good day,’ said the detective, feeling a cold shiver run down his spine and walking swiftly over towards the door, bypassing the two adversaries on the way.
‘Here, what about my Joshua? You going to send him back to Hereford then?’ called out the old woman – but Ravenscroft had already closed the door securely behind him, and had quickly sought the sanctuary of the Homend.
‘Good morning to you, my man.’
‘Morning to you as well, sir.’
‘I see you are busy at your work.’
‘Always busy in my line of work, particularly at this time of year.’
Ravenscroft had just entered the churchyard and had found the stonemason, leaning over and busily engaged in creating a new inscription on the side of the Montacute vault. ‘Why, it’s Mr Sanderson again, if I am not mistaken. Forgive me, I did not recognize you in your different apparel. So you are a carver by profession as well as having charge of the town’s lights.’
‘That I am, sir. Has to do something during the day, when it ain’t dark,’ replied the old man, straightening up his body.
‘Your industry does you credit, sir. There must be quite a few Montacutes buried here, inside?’ said Ravenscroft, impressed by the man’s versatility, and walking round the monument.
‘Reckon so. I’ve done a few of them,’ replied the stonemason, chipping away at the stone.
‘Oh, which ones?’
‘His two wives. Round the other side.’
Ravenscroft knelt down to examine the lettering.
Sacred to the memory of Margaret Montacute (1827-1856)
Beloved Wife of Nathaniel and Mother of Maurice and Elizabeth
And to Elizabeth Montacute (1851-1855)
Daughter of Margaret and Nathaniel
Tragically Taken from us at such a Young Age.
May They Rest in Peace
In Loving Memory of Enid Montacute (1839-1886)
Second Wife of Nathaniel Montacute, and Mother of Rupert
She was held in the Greatest Affection by both her Family
And the Townspeople of Ledbury.
‘Died quite suddenly, she did,’ said the stonemason, looking over Ravenscroft’s shoulder. ‘Died of a fever, so they say. She were a real lady. It were a great loss to the town when she passed away.’
‘Are there any other Montacutes buried inside?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Oh yes, there’s the old master and his wife. They are round the other side. It were my father who did for them. He were mason before me,’ replied Sanderson, laying down his tools and lighting a small pipe.
Ravenscroft walked round to the other side of the monument, and strained to read the older lettering.
In Memory of Giles Montacute (1798-1860)
Banker and Benefactor of This Town
&
nbsp; And to Jane Montacute (1799-1863)
A Loving Wife and Mother.
‘Not much room left after I’ve done with old Master Nathaniel. Just enough for his third wife, Miss Edith, when she goes,’ muttered the stonemason.
‘She’s younger than both of us,’ suggested Ravenscroft.
‘She could outlive us all, or be killed tomorrow. Death is a funny thing. Creeps up on you when you are least expecting it. Plenty of fevers always about to carry you off. Six-month-old infant one day, old grandmother tomorrow. You can never tell who’s next. Did a stone last year for a gent that fell under the hooves of a horse whilst our hunting. Could not have been much above thirty in years. You from these parts, Mr Ravenscroft?’ asked Sanderson, drawing on his pipe.
‘I came to Ledbury last year.’
‘You planning on staying here then?’
‘I would hope so.’
‘Could be doing your stone in a few years’ time then.’
‘I sincerely hope not.’
‘Any parents?’
‘They died some years ago – and my sister.’
‘Got yer own family?’
‘Yes, but I must not detain you from your work, Mr Sanderson. I am looking for the vicar,’ said Ravenscroft, deciding that he had no wish to continue with the mason’s current line of enquiry.
‘Inside church. Saw him go inside not ten minutes ago.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Aye, sir, good day – until we meets again.’
Ravenscroft walked quickly away and pushed open the heavy door that led into the church.
‘Good morning to you, Mr Ravenscroft,’ said the vicar, coming forward to greet him.
‘Good morning to you, Vicar,’ replied Ravenscroft, remembering that he had been married but a few months previous in this same church.
‘And how is Mrs Ravenscroft?’
‘Very well, thank you, Vicar.’
‘How can I be of assistance to you?’
‘You are probably aware that I am investigating the death of Nathaniel Montacute.’
