by Kerry Tombs
‘We must burn the wretched book straightaway!’ demanded Midwinter.
‘I wonder who wrote the journal? You say there are the letters A and V on the front of the work?’ asked Maurice.
‘I think I can provide us with the answer to that question, gentlemen,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘Your uncle has already given us a clue in his letter when he says that your father is to give the book to “his Illustrious Client so that the appropriate steps may be taken to safeguard the future welfare of our country”. I think I am correct in assuming that your illustrious client is none other than His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales?’
‘You are indeed correct, Mr Ravenscroft. The Prince is indeed one of our most important clients. His account is deposited with our London offices in Mayfair. I have had the pleasure of meeting the Prince once or twice myself, although my father took overall responsibility for the safeguarding of the royal account. But why should my father give the book to the Prince?’ asked a puzzled Maurice.
‘Because the journal is written by his son! The initials A and V stand for Prince Albert Victor!’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed Midwinter.
‘Your uncle was instructing your father, in his letter, to see that the book be given to the Prince of Wales, so that the Prince could learn of his son’s deviation, and so that appropriate steps could be taken by the Prince to bring his son back into line and to suppress any attempt to make the matter public,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘This is all quite dreadful. Prince Albert Victor is the eldest son of His Highness the Prince of Wales. One day, when our beloved Queen has passed on, and the Prince after her, then this depraved person will sit on the throne of England!’
A long silence followed Midwinter’s utterance, as each of the three men began to slowly absorb the significance of the book which now lay before them on the banker’s desk, and the future implications that could possibly follow.
‘If any of this was made public—’ began Maurice, eventually breaking the silence.
‘Then almost certainly the monarchy would fall,’ added Ravenscroft.
‘It does not bear thinking about. To think that dreadful man will one day be the ruler of our country! I cannot comprehend such a dreadful situation, gentlemen. I am only glad to know that I shall be long gone by the time that state of affairs comes to fruition. We must destroy the book at once and swear an oath of secrecy never to divulge to anyone what we have learnt in this room today,’ suggested the solicitor.
‘By all means let us swear together an oath, but to destroy the book would prevent us from discovering who killed both your uncle and your father, Mr Montacute. Robertson was killed because it was thought that the package was still upon his person; later when his killer discovered that the package lay within the safe of your office, Mr Midwinter, he tried to retrieve it, wounding my constable in the attempt. If we destroy this journal tonight, the killer may learn that we have done so, and will abandon his quest, and thereby escape justice for his crimes. If, on the other hand, we are seen returning the package to your office and securing it within the confines of your safe, Mr Midwinter, then our killer will certainly try again to make another attempt to retrieve the document. As long as we have the package with its letter and journal inside, we still have an opportunity to catch the villain. Once we have him safe under lock and key then we can see that your uncle’s wishes are carried out and that the book is given to the Prince of Wales for him to do with it as he wishes,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘But there is a deeper issue involved here,’ protested the solicitor. ‘Such a depraved work must be consigned to the flames as soon as possible.’
‘I am inclined to agree with the inspector, Midwinter. Whilst I sympathize with your views and agree that the book should be eventually destroyed, nevertheless I want the killer of my father and my uncle brought to justice. If that means that we deposit the package within your safe for the time being, then so be it,’ said Maurice with determination.
‘Then it is agreed, gentlemen,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘We may not have long to wait until our killer makes his next move!’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LEDBURY, 9 JANUARY 1889. MORNING
‘You look deep in thought this morning, my dear,’ said Lucy.
‘I’m beginning to wonder if this case will ever be concluded,’ replied Ravenscroft, buttering another slice of toast.
‘Who would have thought that your coachman would turn out to be Nathaniel Montacute’s younger brother?’
‘That fact explains a great deal. Two brothers killed within a few days of each other and all for the sake of a packet of papers – or so it would appear.’
‘Excuse me, sir, but Constable Crabb has just arrived,’ said the maid, peering round the side of the door frame.
‘Then show the good fellow in!’ said Ravenscroft, jumping up from the table and shaking his associate’s hand as he entered the room. ‘Good to see you again, Tom. I trust you are fully recovered?’
‘Indeed, sir, I am well, thank you. Mrs Ravenscroft,’ replied a beaming Tom Crabb.
‘I am so glad you did not sustain any great injury. Do take a seat, Tom, and have some breakfast with us,’ said Lucy.
‘Thank you, Mrs Ravenscroft. I don’t mind if I do. It’s a bit chilly out this morning and a warm drink would not go amiss, thank you,’ said Tom, accepting the seat at the table.
‘Sally, would you bring another plate, and a cup and saucer for Mr Crabb, and make some fresh tea and some more toast. And how is Jennie and your little Samuel?’ asked Lucy.
‘Both in excellent spirits, thank you, ma’am.’
‘My husband has been missing your valuable assistance these last few days.’
‘Indeed I have, Tom. I have been at quite a loss without you.’
‘And how is the case progressing, sir?’
‘Slowly. Your attacker is still at large, I’m afraid, but I believe he will soon make another attempt to recover the package, and then we will have him. Since I saw you the other day, there have been a few developments in the case.’
Ravenscroft recounted the events of the previous few days as Crabb enjoyed a helping of tea and buttered toast.
‘So young Master Montacute turns out to be Catherwood’s son!’ said Crabb, when Ravenscroft had finished his narrative.
‘Yes, and that probably explains the rivalry between the old banker and Catherwood – and would also go a long way to understanding the poor relationship between Rupert and his supposed father. Nathaniel must have known about his wife’s association with Catherwood, but rather than divorce his wife and have to put up with all the ensuing scandal, he decided to do nothing and bring up the boy as his own,’ explained Ravenscroft.
‘That was why Catherwood remained here for all those years, instead of going back to Yorkshire,’ suggested Crabb, taking another mouthful of toast.
‘Exactly. At first there was the woman he loved, and when Enid died he no doubt felt that he had to remain in the town so that he could keep a watchful eye over his true son.’
‘Do you think Rupert ever knew who his real father was?’ asked Lucy, pouring out another cup of tea.
‘I doubt it – and Catherwood could do nothing about the matter whilst his great rival still lived,’ replied Ravenscroft.
‘So that’s why Catherwood turned up for the reading of the will, to see if Rupert had been provided for,’ said Crabb.
‘Only to learn that he had been left nothing.’
‘Mean spirited of the old man,’ said Lucy. ‘Nathaniel could have left Rupert something. He was, after all, his wife’s son.’
‘Yes, but I suppose he could never forgive the wrong that his wife and her lover had committed against him all those years ago,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Do you think Mr Catherwood was responsible for killing Nathaniel?’ asked Lucy, passing over the toast rack to Crabb.
‘We cannot discount that possibility. By poisoning his old enemy, he woul
d not only have been gaining his revenge but would also be able to acknowledge Rupert as his own son.’
‘But Catherwood was not there the night that Montacute was killed, and you said that Mrs Leewood saw no one enter or leave the room,’ said Crabb.
‘That would appear to be true, but Catherwood could still have attended the ball and gone unnoticed. He could have disguised himself either as one of the guests, or even as one of the lamplighters. There is also another door at the end of the ballroom which opens out on to the landing at the top of the back stairs. Catherwood could have slipped in that way, making sure that Mrs Leewood had not seen him, put poison in Montacute’s glass and then slipped away when no one was looking,’ said Ravenscroft, neatly folding his napkin and placing it upon the table.
‘The same could be said of Rivers,’ suggested Crabb.
‘That is true. I still find it strange that the gamekeeper went out before midnight rather than remain in the kitchen with Mrs Chambers. I don’t believe that he went out in the hope of catching poachers. Any other reasonable man would have been grateful for a warm hearth and a welcoming drink on such a cold night. I think we need to question him further.’
‘You don’t think, my dear, that the same person who killed the coachman also killed the banker?’ asked Lucy.
‘That was what I first thought. Two brothers killed within a few days of each other, one returning to the town of his birth carrying the important envelope, the second being the named recipient of the package. That would seem the obvious solution, but the more I thought about it, the more I became convinced that the two deaths were unrelated to one another.’
‘Begging your pardon, sir, but you have not yet said what was in the envelope,’ said Crabb, buttering another piece of toast.
‘That, I’m afraid, I am not at liberty to disclose at present.’
‘Oh, why not, sir?’
‘The envelope contained a letter addressed to the senior partner of the bank. After examining the remaining contents of the envelope, Mr Montacute, Mr Midwinter and I swore an oath agreeing that we would never disclose the nature of its contents to anyone.’
‘It’s no good, Tom, you won’t get him to tell you. I have tried myself to obtain the information from him and met with no success,’ laughed Lucy.
‘It is better that you do not know, my dear.’
‘You believe Robertson’s killer will make a second attempt to recover the envelope?’ asked Crabb.
‘Almost certainly. I have posted two of our men inside Midwinter’s office. When he returns they will be more than ready for him, and as an additional precaution, the envelope no longer resides there – it’s in the vaults of Cocks and Biddulph. If he should succeed in breaking into Mr Midwinter’s safe then he will be disappointed. In the meantime we can continue with our investigations into the banker’s murder, when you are ready, Tom.’
‘There’s something else, sir. You remember when that fellow attacked me, and I said I thought I had seen him somewhere before? Well, the more I thought about it, the more I became convinced that I had indeed seen him before.’
‘Go on, Tom,’ urged Ravenscroft.
‘Well, he kind of reminded me of that fellow Cranston.’
‘Cranston!’
‘Yes, sir, we came across him last year in Worcester.’
‘I do indeed remember him. He was a nasty individual on all counts. He said that he worked for the Worcester Porcelain Company as a salesman.’
‘I can’t be absolutely sure it was him. It was very dark, but the more I thought about it, the more likely it seemed that it was him.’
‘What on earth was Cranston doing here in Ledbury? Why would he want to kill Robertson?’
‘Well, sir, that is what I thought, so I decided that I would make some enquiries yesterday. I went into Worcester and visited the porcelain works. It seems Cranston disappeared one day last autumn without giving in his notice and they haven’t seen him since.’
‘This is interesting news, Tom. Well done! So it looks as though Cranston is Robertson’s murderer.’
‘As I said, sir, I can’t be absolutely sure it was him.’
‘If it was this Cranston, why would he have killed the coachman?’ asked Lucy, looking into her husband’s eyes.
‘To acquire the packet. He no doubt thought that Robertson still had the package about his person. He could have been working for someone, I suppose. Perhaps the same people in London who were trying to recover the envelope from Robertson? Anyway, we shall learn the truth once we have the fellow behind bars. Are you ready, Tom?’
‘Ready when you are, sir. Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs Ravenscroft,’ said Crabb, quickly drinking down the remaining contents of his tea cup.
‘You are more than welcome here at any time, Tom,’ said Lucy, smiling up at the constable before turning towards her husband. ‘Do you know what time you will return, Samuel?’
‘I cannot tell, my dear, in what direction our investigations will take us,’ said Ravenscroft, rising from the table. ‘I will try and send you a message if I am not able to return before dark.’
Crabb and Ravenscroft left the cottage in Church Lane and made their way down the narrow way towards the marketplace.
‘Where to first, sir?’ asked Crabb.
‘I feel we should return to The Gables. I think we will have words with Mr Rivers, and try and ascertain why he left the kitchen before midnight, and where he really went to.’
‘He may not be forthcoming, sir. He seems quite a hard nut to crack—’
‘Do you notice something, Crabb?’ interrupted Ravenscroft, suddenly coming to a halt.
‘Not that fellow watching us again?’
‘No, quite the opposite. We have just walked down here into the marketplace, and it has been the first time in three days that I have felt sure that no one has been observing us.’
‘Perhaps the fellow has decided to give up trying to steal the package, and has gone back to London?’
‘Maybe – but let us hope not, or we may never have the opportunity of placing him behind bars!’
‘Good morning to you, Father Bannerman.’
‘Good morning to you, my son.’
‘I trust you are enjoying your stay here with us in Ledbury, Father?’ said the receptionist at the Feathers Hotel, looking up at the middle-aged clergyman dressed in black clerical attire of a well-worn nature.
‘Yes, indeed, Ledbury is a very pleasant town. It has many interesting old buildings. I particularly found your church most appealing,’ replied the priest in what the clerk discerned as an Irish accent.
‘Have you visited any of the neighbouring towns, Father?’
‘Yesterday I took the opportunity of visiting Malvern, and the day before I went to Hereford on the train. Fine places, both of them. The cathedral there is most awe inspiring.’
‘May I be so bold, Father, as to enquire how much longer you intend staying with us here at the Feathers?’
‘I think perhaps one more day will suffice,’ replied the cleric, peering through the darkened lenses of his large spectacles. ‘Yes, I have a little private business to attend to today, which I expect to bring to a satisfactory conclusion before the day is out. Much as I would like to remain here for a few more days, I fear that would not be possible. My flock will be wondering where I am if I stay away too long.’
‘I quite understand, Father. Be careful how you go, sir. It’s still rather slippery outside.’
‘I will indeed. Thank you for your concern,’ he replied, putting on his black gloves and pulling his large hat further down on to his forehead before walking out of the doors of the Feathers.
In the marketplace, he observed that the traders were already busy selling their wares, and as he walked across the road, he paused to look up at the unexpected bright winter sun and felt its warm glow against his face. Temporary blinded by the sun’s rays, he stepped cautiously on to the pavement.
Suddenly he felt the force of ano
ther coming into contact with him, and was unable to stop himself falling towards the ground.
‘I’m so sorry, Father. Here, let me help you up,’ said the stranger, reaching out for his arm and steadying him back on to his feet.
‘Thank you, my son. It was the sun. I should have looked where I was going – so foolish of me,’ he said, brushing away a few wet flakes from his clothes.
‘It is easily done, Father. The roads are still treacherous after the night frost. I trust you are not injured?’
‘No, not at all. Thank you, my son. You are most kind,’ said the priest, turning quickly away.
‘Your hat, Father,’ said the stranger’s companion, bending down and retrieving the item from the pavement.
‘Thank you again.’
‘Good day to you, Father,’ said the first speaker.
‘Good day to you both, gentlemen.’
The priest watched as Ravenscroft and Crabb went on their way, then slowly made his way up Church Lane. As he passed by the front of the little cottage, he caught a fleeting glimpse of a young woman standing before a fire, and could not resist allowing himself a brief smile before continuing on his journey.
‘Good morning to you, Mr Rivers.’
‘Morning to you, Ravenscroft,’ replied the gamekeeper, looking up briefly from the cleaning of his shotgun.
‘I’ve come to thank you for your valuable assistance in the wood.’
‘It was nothing. Least I could do.’
‘Nevertheless, without your being able to guide us along the pathways, we would not have been able to have found either Leewood or Master Rupert. How is the young master this morning?’ asked Ravenscroft.
