by Kerry Tombs
‘This is terrible!’ said Mrs Chambers, bursting into tears.
‘There now, Mrs Chambers, don’t you distress yourself,’ said Rivers, placing a comforting arm round the cook’s shoulders.
‘Look, Ravenscroft, this is all quite ridiculous. Enid Montacute died of a fever. She was not poisoned. I should know, I was there at the time. I would have known if anyone had administered arsenic,’ said Andrews forcefully.
‘As you say, Doctor Andrews, you would have known,’ said Ravenscroft, allowing himself a brief smile.
‘If you are suggesting that I killed Mrs Montacute, then I’m afraid you have failed to take two things into account,’ protested the doctor.
‘And they are?’
‘Firstly I did not choose to attend Mrs Montacute in her illness. It was the family who called upon me.’
‘But you were the only doctor available in the town at that time, Mr Andrews. Your predecessor had died the year before. If Mrs Montacute was ill, it would have been quite natural for the family to have called you in,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Secondly, what possible reason would I have had for wanting to kill Mrs Montacute?’ replied Andrews, ignoring Ravenscroft’s last remark.
Ravenscroft said nothing but walked away from the table, deep in thought.
‘Precisely! I had no financial incentive in seeing Mrs Montacute dead. The whole idea that I somehow poisoned my patient is quite ridiculous,’ said Andrews, shaking his head.
A long silence followed. Ravenscroft removed his spectacles and after polishing the lens, stared out of the window, knowing that the assembled group all believed that he had failed. Even Crabb looked down at the floor and shuffled his feet.
‘Well, Ravenscroft, if that’s all yer can come up, we might as well all go home,’ said Major Onslow, standing up from the table.
‘I must say I’m inclined to agree with you,’ said Maurice, doing likewise and offering his arm to Edith.
‘There is someone here tonight who has been lying to us,’ said Ravenscroft, suddenly turning round and producing some papers from his inside pocket. ‘If you would kindly all resume your seats, I will explain.’
Onslow looked across at Maurice as the two men sat down once again at the table.
‘Thank you. I promise not to detain you for very much longer. After the death of Enid Montacute, Nathaniel Montacute travelled alone to Rome, where he met you, Mrs Montacute?’
‘Yes, we were staying together in the same hotel in Rome,’ replied Edith, giving a slight smile.
‘After a few weeks you fell in love and married?’
‘Yes, but you know all this, Inspector.’
‘You returned to Ledbury shortly after your marriage, where you were quickly accepted by the family. After all, it was plain for everyone to see that you brought your husband a great deal of happiness, so much so that after a year of marriage you persuaded him to make a new will in your favour.’
‘I did not persuade my husband, Inspector, to change his will. I had no knowledge whatsoever that he was even thinking of changing his will,’ replied Edith.
‘For that assertion, of course, we have only your word,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘See here, Ravenscroft, this is a gross slur on a lady,’ said Maurice.
‘Ah, Mr Montacute – always springing to the defence of your stepmother. A very protective and quite commendable attribute. Could it be that one day you would hope to eventually marry the lady?’
‘I regard that remark as highly offensive, Ravenscroft,’ replied the indignant banker. ‘Someone has to look after my stepmother’s interests.’
‘Mrs Montacute, your former name was Henshaw. Edith Henshaw, I believe?’
‘I have told you all this already, Inspector,’ protested Edith.
‘Yes, of course – the Henshaws of Nantwich, Cheshire. Your father and your mother have both passed away in recent years, leaving you a very rich woman, I believe?’
‘That is indeed correct, Inspector.’
‘If that had indeed been the case, why would your husband have felt the need to alter his will entirely in your favour?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘I don’t know, Inspector. You would have to ask him that question,’ replied Edith calmly.
‘And of course your husband is dead – so we cannot question him on that point. I have here in my hand the reply to a telegram I sent to the police in Nantwich. Do you know what it says, Mrs Montacute?’ said Ravenscroft, opening the paper.
‘I have no idea, Inspector,’ replied Edith, blushing.
‘I asked my colleagues in Nantwich to make enquiries regarding the Henshaw family. I do not think it would surprise you to learn that there are no landed gentry of that name in the town, or anywhere else in the county for that matter. There was however a Kitty Henshaw born in the town twenty-five years ago – and far from being an orphan, she still has a mother who is alive and well. The mother in fact keeps a small dressmaker’s establishment in the town!’
‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed Onslow.
‘You must be mistaken. You clearly have the wrong family, Inspector,’ said Edith, looking anxiously round the table. ‘I was formerly Miss Edith Henshaw, daughter of Mr Joseph Henshaw, Gentleman of Nantwich. Maurice, you believe me, don’t you?’
‘I don’t know what to believe,’ protested Maurice.
‘Then let me enlighten you. Far from coming from a rich landed family in Cheshire, Miss Henshaw, your origins come from a far more humble source. There was no money and no property to inherit. Your father died twenty years ago, leaving your mother, a seamstress, to struggle to bring up her only daughter alone in this world. Then one day, you leave the town of your birth and travel to Rome where you meet an old man who has recently lost his wife and where you deliberately set about entrapping him until he is persuaded to marry you and bring you back to his home town of Ledbury.’
‘It was not like that at all. Yes, my real name is Kitty Henshaw, but it is not a crime surely to come from a poor background and to want to rise in this world,’ said Edith, looking desperately at Maurice.
‘A noble sentiment. You are correct, it is not a crime to be ambitious, to better oneself in society. It is a crime, however, to commit murder,’ said Ravenscroft firmly.
‘I did not kill Nathaniel. I loved him!’ exclaimed Edith, tears beginning to form in her eyes.
‘I believe you deliberately poisoned your husband when the lights were extinguished. When I asked you if anyone else was standing next to you at the time, you mentioned Major Onslow’s name, but when I questioned you, Major, you remembered standing in a different part of the room entirely. I think you deliberately implicated the major in order to draw attention away from yourself, Miss Henshaw.’
‘Good Lord!’ exclaimed Onslow.
‘No! No, this is all so untrue!’ exclaimed Edith.
‘You still don’t have any proof for all this?’ interrupted Doctor Andrews.
‘That is indeed true, Doctor. No one saw the poison being administered. It was, after all, quite dark,’ said Ravenscroft, smiling.
‘Then all this is pure guesswork,’ said Catherwood.
‘Not quite. I am arresting you, Kitty Henshaw, for the murder of Nathaniel Montacute. Crabb, put the cuffs on her,’ said Ravenscroft, leaning across the table and staring hard at his quarry.
‘No! I’m innocent, you must believe me!’ pleaded Edith, looking anxiously at the others seated around the table.
‘Crabb, do your duty!’ instructed Ravenscroft, turning away.
‘No! No! For God’s sake, tell them, James, that it wasn’t my idea!’ screamed Edith, looking in Doctor Andrews’ direction as Crabb stepped forward to place the handcuffs round her wrists.
‘I don’t know what the devil she’s talking about,’ protested the doctor, rising from his seat.
‘James, for God’s sake, will you tell them it was all your idea!’ shouted Edith frantically as Crabb snapped on the cuffs.
‘The woman is d
eranged!’ laughed Andrews, moving away from the table.
‘I don’t think so. It is all over, Doctor. I have in my hand a copy of a marriage certificate dated 3 February 1885, for the union of a Doctor James Andrews and Kitty Henshaw, a marriage that took place in the town of Nantwich in Cheshire!’ announced Ravenscroft, flinging the paper down on to the table.
‘Damn you, Ravenscroft!’ shouted Andrews. ‘Damn you!’
‘You see, ladies and gentlemen, it was all part of a very clever plan. Four years ago Doctor Andrews and Miss Henshaw were married. A year later you came alone to Ledbury, Doctor, to take up a new position – and where you quickly made yourself known to the Montacute family. When Enid Montacute fell ill with some minor complaint, you took the opportunity to poison the good lady, and when you recommended that the distraught widower embark on a tour of Italy, you made sure that your wife was there at the hotel waiting to entrap him.’
‘My God, Ravenscroft!’ exclaimed Onslow, as the cook burst into tears.
‘Tell me one thing, Andrews – had you and your wife already formulated this plan before you came alone to Ledbury, or did the idea of murder occur to you once you were here?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘For God’s sake, tell him everything!’ screamed Edith, trying to break free from Crabb’s grasp.
‘Shut your mouth, you stupid woman!’ snapped Andrews.
‘Doctor James Andrews, I am arresting you for the murder of Enid Montacute and for your implication in the murder of Nathaniel Montacute—’ began Ravenscroft.
‘You’ll have to catch me first!’ shouted the doctor as he rushed towards the door.
‘Sergeant!’ yelled Ravenscroft, as Andrews flung open the door to be confronted by two policemen barring his way. ‘This is Sergeant Stephens and Constable Smith from Hereford Central Police Station. Gentlemen, if you would care to put the bracelets on him and escort both the doctor and Miss Henshaw to the station, Constable Crabb and myself will be with you shortly.’
Two hours later, Ravenscroft and Crabb stood outside the police station in Ledbury, watching a police wagon making its way out of the town.
‘They should both be locked up safely in a cell in Hereford gaol before the night is out,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Suppose they’ll both hang?’ suggested Crabb.
‘Not until a jury has found them both guilty of their crimes.’
‘No doubt about that, sir.’
‘I would hope so. Andrews is still protesting his innocence, but with Kitty’s full confession, a conviction would seem inevitable. Not even the esteemed Mr Sefton Rawlinson could achieve an acquittal in this case.’
‘Who is Sefton Rawlinson?’
‘Oh, just a slippery brief I have encountered on more than one occasion in London. But enough of all this, Tom. It has been a long day. Come home with me and partake of a nightcap before you make your way back to the Wells,’ said Ravenscroft, letting out a deep sigh as the two men began to walk up Church Lane.
‘Thank you, sir, I don’t mind if I do. So Mrs Montacute wasn’t legally married to Nathaniel at all?’
‘That’s right. Her real name was Kitty Andrews, although she was born Kitty Henshaw. As she was still married to Andrews at the time she married Nathaniel, then her second union is invalid. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that the couple must have formulated their plan before they arrived here in Ledbury, otherwise Kitty would have accompanied her husband when he took up his new position. He was clearly on the lookout for some rich widower who he could later introduce to Kitty. When he learned of the wealth of the Montacutes he decided to speed things up by poisoning Enid Montacute – and once Kitty had persuaded Nathaniel to alter his will in her favour, all they then had to do was wait for some public occasion, such as the Lamplighters’ Ball, when they could poison Nathaniel without implicating themselves in any way. I have no doubt that once the police had failed to catch Nathaniel’s murderer and things had settled down, Andrews and Kitty would have gone through some form of sham marriage in order for both of them to inherit the Montacute money and property.’
‘It was a very clever plot, sir. It’s Maurice I feel sorry for. He clearly had designs on the lady as well!’ added Crabb.
‘You noticed how he was always springing to her defence, Crabb? He was clearly infatuated with her.’
‘It was a bit touch and go in there tonight, sir. At one stage I thought it was all over for us. How were you so sure that you would catch the two of them?’
‘I wasn’t. After all, no one had seen either Andrews or Kitty commit their crimes, but I knew that if I kept my nerve I could confront them with the telegram and the copy of the marriage certificate and then one of them would break down and confess, and furthermore implicate the other – and so it proved to be.’
‘All we need to do now, sir, is to apprehend this Cranston fellow,’ added Crabb.
‘I must confess that in all the excitement I have forgotten that we still had to bring that villain to account, but that can wait until the morning. If he makes his move tonight, he will meet with two armed constables from Hereford who will be waiting for him in Midwinter’s offices,’ said Ravenscroft, opening his front door.
‘My God, sir!’ exclaimed Sally the maid, rushing to meet the two men. ‘My God, sir, you’re supposed to be dead!’
‘Far from it, Sally, for as you can see I am alive and well!’ replied Ravenscroft, laughing.
‘But you’re supposed to be shot through the heart and dying, out on the hills!’ said the frustrated maid.
‘Sally, what is all this about?’ asked Ravenscroft, suddenly realizing that the servant was sincere in her misapprehension.
‘Just after six o’clock tonight, sir, one of your men knocked on the door and said you had been seriously injured whilst undertaking an arrest on the hills.’
‘What policeman? I sent no policeman here,’ stated Ravenscroft anxiously. ‘How was he dressed?’
‘He wore a police tunic, and cape, just like they do, and said he had come over from the station at Malvern.’
‘Good grief!’ said Ravenscroft, suddenly realizing the seriousness of the situation and fearing the worst. ‘Where is Mrs Ravenscroft? For God’s sake, girl, where is Mrs Ravenscroft?’ he shouted.
‘She’s gone with him, sir! He said you were dying out on the hills, and that you had asked for her – and so she went with him, sir,’ replied the distraught maid.
‘Oh my God, Crabb, do you see what this means? It’s Cranston – and he has Lucy within his power!’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LEDBURY, 10 JANUARY 1889
Ravenscroft stood silently at the window of the cottage in Church Lane, waiting for the dawn to break so that he could begin the desperate search for his wife. Several hours previously he had learned how Cranston had first assumed the disguise of the Catholic priest, and then that of the constable, in order to lure Lucy away from the safety of their home. Then he and Crabb had quickly returned to the Feathers, in the futile hope that Cranston would have taken refuge there, only to learn from the receptionist that their guest had left the previous afternoon. Now Cranston had Lucy at his mercy, somewhere out on the hills, and Ravenscroft felt utterly powerless in his attempts to find her. Furthermore, he cursed himself for his own stupidity. Whilst he had been busily engaged in bringing Nathaniel Montacute’s murderer to book, Cranston had seized the opportunity to lure Lucy away from the safety of their home on his false pretext. He ought to have seen that the man would have stooped to such an evil design in order to secure the envelope. He should have offered his wife his protection; should have realized that Cranston would have struck at the very heart of his own family. Through his own negligence and stupidity he had placed the life of the woman he loved above all other at the gravest risk.
‘If it is any consolation, sir, I don’t think the fellow would have killed Mrs Ravenscroft,’ said Crabb from the armchair. ‘Not while he still wants that envelope.’
�
��I pray you are right, Crabb. If he has harmed her in any way, I swear I will kill him, Tom, and let hang the consequences. But where can he have taken her? Where do we start to look?’
‘My guess is that he has left the town.’
‘I think you are right there, Tom. We will have a word with the cab men, when it is light, and see if they know or saw anything yesterday evening. According to Sally, Cranston intended taking Lucy out somewhere on the hills. One of the men could have taken them out there. Now they could be anywhere! God, I have been so stupid, Tom! Why did I not see that Cranston would do something like this? I should have realized that he would not have made any further attempts on Midwinter’s offices and that he would have resorted to more desperate measures.’
‘You were not to know that, sir.’
‘But I should have known, damn it!’ said Ravenscroft, bringing his fist hard into the base of his other hand, anxiously pacing up and down the room. ‘I should have known!’
‘It will be daylight soon, sir. I’ll have every available man out searching the hills until we find them,’ said Crabb, trying to sound confident.
‘It will be like looking for a needle in a haystack. No, Cranston has us just where he wants us. He knows we will be waiting here, and that we are powerless to act. If he wants that envelope and its contents, he will have to make his next move soon.’
‘I’m sure you’re right, sir.’
Suddenly there was a loud knocking on the front door of the cottage. Ravenscroft looked across at Crabb, before the two of them dashed quickly into the hall. A postboy was handing a letter to Sally the maid.
‘Letter for Ravenscroft,’ said the boy.
‘Who gave you this letter to deliver?’ asked Ravenscroft, anxiously taking the envelope from the maid.
‘No one, sir. It was left at the office yesterday afternoon, with instructions that it was not to be delivered until early this morning.’
‘Thank you,’ replied Ravenscroft, giving the boy a silver coin before returning to the living-room.
‘Could be from Cranston, sir?’ suggested Crabb.
