by Kerry Tombs
Ravenscroft turned away from the scene.
‘Mr Ravenscroft just before you go, I wonder what name you would like engraved on the stone?’
Ravenscroft hesitated.
‘Of course if you prefer, my dear sir, we could leave the stone unmarked.’
‘No I would not like that. She must have a name. Anne,’ said Ravenscroft suddenly. ‘I should like the name Anne to be engraved on the stone. Anne with an “e”. if you will be so kind.’
‘Will that be all, sir?’
‘Yes — just Anne, if you would.’
* * *
As Ravenscroft left the churchyard the black clouds parted and a ray of sunshine shone down on the wet path. Closing the gate behind him he began to make his way down the winding lane. Gradually he saw a group of three familiar figures in the distance, coming forwards to meet him.
‘Mr Ravenscroft, we could not let you leave without saying goodbye,’ said Lady Chilton greeting him encouragingly.
‘That is most kind. I trust you are now fully recovered from your ordeal, Lady Chilton?’
‘My doctors expect me to make a full recovery,’ smiled the lady.
‘That is good, and how are you, Miss Mildred?’ asked Ravenscroft turning his attention towards the young girl who clasped her mother’s hand.
‘I am well, sir, thank you,’ replied the girl.
‘Mr Chilton,’ said Ravenscroft shaking Peter’s hand.
‘Ravenscroft, we cannot thank you enough.’
‘Take good care of Lady Chilton and her daughter, they have been through a great deal,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘I intend to,’ smiled Chilton.
‘Have you heard the news, Mr Ravenscroft?’ said Lady Chilton. ‘Miss Petterson and Mr Russell are to be married.’
‘That is good news indeed. You will be in need of a new governess then, Miss Chilton?’ suggested Ravenscroft.
‘Miss Petterson has agreed that she will continue to look after Mildred after she is married,’ replied Lady Chilton.
‘Then all ends well. I trust that you will all be able to put the past behind you. I wish you all good day,’ said Ravenscroft raising his hat.
‘Good morning to you, Inspector.’
The couple, holding the hands of the small girl, watched, as the detective made his way down the lane — and out of sight.
POSTSCRIPT
Sir Charles Chilton was found guilty of the murder of Old John, and of the false incarceration of his brother Peter, and was hanged at Worcester Gaol.
Peter Chilton came into his inheritance once more and married his former betrothed. They had two children and lived for many years at Hill Court. The property was later sold and became a successful private school.
On 30th March, 1896, a bargeman on the River Thames at Reading recovered a brown paper parcel from the murky waters of the nearby canal. The parcel contained the body of an infant girl, and an examination of the deceased showed that she had been strangled with some layers of tape. Lettering on the outside of the brown paper parcel, however, revealed the name of a Mrs Thomas of Piggott’s Road, Lower Caversham.
Police enquiries later identified Mrs Thomas to be one Amelia Elizabeth Dyer. The river and canal were dragged for other bodies, and the decomposed corpses of two baby boys were recovered from the waters. Four other bodies of young children were found later.
Amelia Dyer stood trial for her crimes at the Old Bailey in London, where a jury took just five minutes to find her guilty. She was hanged at Newgate prison on 10th June, 1896.
Although it is known that Amelia Dyer killed at least seven children, it is generally assumed that she had killed many.
THE END
Book 6:
THE PERSHORE
POISONERS
A captivating Victorian murder mystery
Kerry Tombs
To Joan, Samuel and Zoe
For all their support and encouragement over the years
PROLOGUE
PIMLICO, LONDON 1870
‘You know that I am perfectly innocent of this crime. Why must you continue with these infernal questions?’
The policemen remained silent.
‘I keep telling you I am not responsible for the death of my poor wife. Why don’t you believe me?’ pleaded the young man looking across the table at the uniformed officer.
‘If you would just answer some more of our questions, Captain Quinton, we would be obliged.’
‘Confound you, Inspector,’ sighed the man leaning back in the chair and staring up at the grey ceiling of the small, uninviting room.
‘How long were you and your wife married, sir?’ asked the policeman mopping his sweating brow with a large brown handkerchief, and coughing as he did so.
‘I’ve told you three times already. My wife and I had only been married for three months.’
‘Make a note of the good captain’s answers, constable,’ instructed the questioner addressing the young man standing by the door. ‘We may need to produce them in evidence.’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Now then, when did you and your wife move to Pimlico?’
‘Shortly after we were married.’
‘When did your wife first become unwell?’
‘About three weeks ago. She complained of severe pains in her stomach. She was also violently sick in the night.’
‘And what did you do, sir?’ asked the inspector leaning forwards and coughing noisily into his handkerchief.
‘I called for Doctor Cranford. He came and attended my wife. His conclusion was that she must have eaten something which had disagreed with her.’
‘And what happened next, sir?’
‘Well he prescribed some medicine for my wife, Charlotte, and advised her to remain in bed for a few days until she recovered.’
‘And did your wife make a recovery, sir?’
‘She appeared to rally after two or three days, but then the illness returned with the same symptoms. I again called for Doctor Cranford. He treated her and said that we were to feed her on a light gruel until she recovered.’
‘But your wife did not recover, did she, sir?’ said the policeman before sneezing twice into the handkerchief.
‘No. She seemed to fall into a decline. She was unable to keep down any food for more than a few minutes. I was desperate, Inspector Robertson. I could not understand it. Believe me when I tell you that I would have done anything to save her,’ replied Quinton earnestly.
‘Can you tell me what happened yesterday, sir, if you please,’ asked Robertson before repeating the sneeze.
‘Good heavens man, can’t you take something for that cold?’
‘It’s not a cold sir, it’s a condition I have. There is no cure. Now if you will kindly answer the question, sir, I should be obliged.’
‘It was shortly before three o’clock in the morning. Rachel, the maid, woke me and told me that her mistress was in great pain. I hastily dressed and went into her room. It was dreadful. My wife was screaming out in agony, clutching her stomach and crying out that she was dying. I had never seen her look so deathly white.’
‘Very distressing no doubt,’ sniffed Robertson.
‘We did all that we could to comfort her. I held her in my arms, as she passed away,’ replied the young man burying his face in his hands. ‘I’m sorry. I cannot go on. This is all so upsetting. Can I have some water?’
‘Constable, give the captain a glass of water,’ instructed Robertson sneezing into his handkerchief once more.
The young policeman poured out the water from a flagon, and handed it to the distressed man. Robertson leaned back in his chair and studied the man as he swallowed the liquid.
‘Thank you. I am sorry. Is there anything else I can help you with?’
‘What do you think was the cause of your wife’s illness, Captain Quinton?’
‘I don’t know. I only wish I did, then I could have saved her. It could have been something she inherited from her family I suppose,
or a reaction to something she had eaten,’ replied Quinton recovering his composure.
‘You say that you and your wife had only been married for three months. Where did you first meet your wife, sir?’
‘At Pershore in Worcestershire. We were staying at the same hotel.’
‘What were you doing there sir?’
‘I was spending a few days there on holiday. Why do you ask these questions? It is no concern of yours as to how my wife and I met. All this is becoming irritating, inspector. I think I have answered enough of your questions. Now if you will excuse me, I must attend to the arrangements for my wife’s funeral,’ said Quinton rising from his chair.
‘Just one moment, sir. Constable if you please,’ said the detective sneezing once more before addressing his younger colleague.
The policeman reached into his pocket and handed his superior a small book.
‘What is that?’ enquired Quinton.
‘A diary, sir, written by your late wife.’
‘What? I don’t understand,’ said Quinton looking down uneasily at the item on the table. ‘Where did you get that?’
‘We found the diary concealed between a number of items in the drawer of your wife’s bedside cabinet. Were you aware, sir, that your wife kept a diary?’
‘No, of course not. You made a search of my wife’s effects? This is intolerable, sir. You have no right to be prying into my wife’s affairs. Good God man, have you no feelings, or compassion, at all? My wife has just died!’ shouted Quinton whilst reaching out for the book.
‘Just one moment sir,’ said Robertson taking hold of the work, before banging it down on the desk. ‘We have every right, sir. A young innocent lady struck down in the very prime of her life, for no apparent reason. Dead in the middle of the night. I would say that that more than encourages us in our investigations, sir. Constable, perhaps you would care to read aloud from the deceased’s diary. I am sure that Captain Quinton will find the entries most enlightening.’
‘This is not to be borne, inspector. I will report this gross violation of privacy to your superior. Now I suggest you give me that diary at once man,’ demanded Quinton rising from his seat.
‘Constable, if you would,’ instructed Robertson.
‘From where, sir?’ enquired the young policeman.
‘From the young lady’s arrival in Pershore. Do take a seat, captain. I am sure that if you are innocent in your wife’s death, as you say you are, then you will have nothing to fear from your wife’s words.’
‘Damn you, man,’ snapped Quinton glaring at the detective before resuming his seat.
The constable began reading aloud from the diary—
7 July
Arrived in Pershore this afternoon by the early coach from Oxford. Quite why I have come to this place, I cannot really comprehend. The coach stopped to change horses at the Angel, and as I had little inclination, or desire, to continue the journey to Worcester, I enquired whether they had rooms to let, and have taken one at the front of the building for a few days. Since the death of my poor, beloved Albert it is as if my life has come to an end. Hardly a day goes by when I do not think of how our lives would have been so complete together, but it was not to be. Oh, why did Albert have to go to India? To die in an unknown foreign land, and to leave me so bereft is cruel! Now I am alone, and know not what I am to do with the remainder of my poor life.
8 July
Did not really want to leave my hotel room this morning and had no desire to venture out and explore the town. They say Pershore is a pretty place with some fine buildings, and an abbey of some importance, but although I can see signs of life in the town square from my bedroom window, it fails to attract me. Just lay on the bed all day thinking of my dear Albert, and what our lives might have been.
9 July
My chambermaid, a young whimsical kind of girl, could not understand why I had no desire to venture out to explore the town. I explained to her that I had not been well, and that all I desired was complete rest and to be left alone with my thoughts. I do wish that these people would not seek to impose their desires upon one.
10 July
Have visited the ancient abbey at last. I was not sure that I wanted to leave the sanctuary of my room; I am content with my own company and require no other, but the maid spoke of it again, and gave me an odd look, so I gave in rather than have people think I am strange, or mad!
And what a fine building it is! I stood outside for some minutes not knowing whether I should venture inside. The choir boys were singing Evensong when I entered, and for a moment as I stood there it seemed that everything in my past life had slipped away. And then a strange thing happened. As I turned to leave I accidentally dropped my umbrella on the floor, and before I could bend down to recover it, I found that another had retrieved it for me. A tall, thin gentleman, dressed entirely in black, smiled briefly as he bowed and handed the umbrella back to me. I thanked him, and was about to move away when he enquired whether we had met before. I told him that we had not. Then he said he thought he had seen me the other night in the dining room of my hotel, and yes it appears that he is a guest at the same establishment. He then apologized for his intrusion and quickly made his way out of the building. What a peculiar thing to have happened.
11 July
After writing those words yesterday I had quite expected to see the mysterious stranger at dinner that evening, but it was not to be. And then this morning as I walked along the main street of the town whom should I see coming towards me but the same gentleman I had encountered in the abbey yesterday afternoon! We exchanged a few words of recognition. I asked if he was still resident at the hotel as I had not seen him at dinner the previous evening, to which he replied that he had been called away on urgent business, which had prevented him from dining there — and then he asked me if I would care to dine with him that evening, seeing as we were both staying at the same hotel. I considered this suggestion rather improper, especially as we had only met once before, and anyway I had no desire to converse with anyone at the present, and so I declined his invitation.
12 July
Encountered my stranger again this morning who was standing outside the hotel when I walked out. Most apologetic for his behaviour yesterday. Had not wished to cause any offence. I told him that none had been taken. Then he asked if I might assist him in a task which he was about to undertake. It seems that an aunt of his had written to him that very day asking him to purchase some lace handkerchiefs for her, and that he was quite at a loss as to what he should choose, and that if I could possibly advise him in any way regarding this purchase, he would be eternally in my debt. I was so taken aback by this unexpected demand that my first inclination was to refuse, and quickly make my way back inside the hotel, but he looked so sad and seemed so much at a loss, that I could not refuse, and so it was that we visited one or two of the local shops in an attempt to complete his errand. I must say that I have never been asked by a stranger before to assist him in such a manner! Thirty minutes later the deed had been done. My stranger introduced himself as a Captain Quinton. He thanked me most profusely for my assistance and helpful advice, and then we went our own separate ways. What an unusual thing to have happened!
13 July
No sign of Captain Quinton today! I’m somewhat relieved.
14 July
I was on my way into dinner tonight when whom should I encounter, but Captain Quinton. He said that he had sent the lace handkerchiefs to his aunt, who had just written to say how pleased she was with them. He was most grateful for my guidance, and said that he would be extremely grateful, and how could he possibly repay me for such kindness? I told him that I had been pleased to be of assistance to him, and that there was no need for him to repay me. However he was most insistent that he would like to be of service to me. He said that he intended visiting the nearby town of Ledbury the next day, and that if I would care to accompany him on this excursion I would be most welcome. Well I was taken aback by th
is proposal, but he looked so sad that it seemed churlish to refuse. Now that I have written these words I am beginning to regret my hasty decision. Perhaps I will send a message in the morning to say I am unwell.
15 July
Well, in the event I did not send that message and have just returned from a wonderful day’s excursion to Ledbury. Captain Quinton had hired a chaise, no less, complete with groom. The weather was fine, warm sunshine with a gentle breeze, but not unpleasantly hot. Ledbury is a fine town indeed, with some old buildings and an interesting ancient market place.
We walked up a narrow cobbled street to view the church, where a local guide showed us around the building, pointing out all the interesting features. Then Captain Quinton said that we should partake of some refreshment at one of the local inns. Although it was such a pleasant occasion, poor Captain Quinton came over suddenly quite sad, and at one point I almost thought that he was going to cry. I must say that I felt very uneasy, and wished that I had not been so bold as to have undertaken such an excursion with a gentleman who was so unknown to me. Then the captain apologized for his unhappy state. It appears that poor Captain Quinton’s wife died of smallpox the previous year, and that he has been left quite alone in the world — this day had been the first day in which he had obtained some relief from his unhappy state. He hoped I would understand. I explained to him that I too had recently lost someone who had been close to me. It seems that we had both come to Pershore to seek some relief from the situations in which we had found ourselves. We are like two little orphans who have lost our way. Poor Captain Quinton. As we drove back to Pershore, he said very little, and I must say that I was quite relieved when we returned to the hotel.
July 16
I lay in bed last night going over the events of the day, and it must have been three in the morning before I finally went to sleep. Upon coming downstairs this morning the first person I met in the hallway was Captain Quinton, who appeared to be in quite an agitated condition. He was most insistent that we breakfast together, and once we had been seated, he apologized earnestly for his behaviour yesterday. He had not wanted to burden me with the news of his wife’s death. I told him that I quite understood, and that I had not been offended in any way by his conduct. With this he seemed quite satisfied. Then he suggested that there was a performance of The Messiah that evening in the abbey and he would be honoured if I would accompany him.
