by Kerry Tombs
‘Yes sir,’ replied Crabb.
‘Well, I know the Crosskeys. It was a place frequented by certain ladies of the night.’
‘My word, sir! No wonder she went red when you mentioned that you knew Whitechapel.’
‘It may be nothing of course.’
‘You think they may have killed Jones?’ asked Crabb.
‘I cannot see an obvious motive, although they could have encountered Jones in London before they came here I suppose. I feel they may have a great deal more to tell us, but we will leave it for the present until we have interviewed all the other guests.’
‘Shall I knock on this door?’
‘If you would, Tom.’
Crabb raised his hand to the door, but before he could bring it down on the panel, he found that it had suddenly opened.
‘Ah, and you must be Inspector Ravenhill?’ pronounced a tall, thin, upright grey-haired lady standing in the doorway.
‘Ravenscroft. Detective Inspector Ravenscroft — and this is my associate Constable Crabb,’ said the detective somewhat taken aback by the dramatic opening of the door.
‘Inspector Ravenscroft, do please forgive me. Do come in inspector. We have heard so much about you from Mr Talbot. You have come about poor Mr Jones no doubt?’ said the lady indicating that the two men should enter.
‘Indeed, Miss Fanshaw,’ replied Ravenscroft stepping into the room. ‘I believe you and your sister may be able to assist us in our inquiries.’
‘Do you hear that, Clarisa? The inspector says that we may be of assistance,’ said the lady turning to face a frail, grey-haired woman, of even slighter stature, who rose from a chair before the fire.
‘Good day to you, miss,’ said Ravenscroft addressing the other woman. ‘I understand that you are Miss Clarisa Fanshaw — and you are?’ he asked turning to face the lady who had opened the door to them.
‘Miss Arabella Fanshaw.’
‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance, ladies.’
‘Do please take a seat, inspector,’ indicated his hostess. ‘Perhaps you and your constable would like some tea?’
‘That would be most kind of you,’ replied Ravenscroft accepting the chair near the fire, as the two sisters left the room.
‘Very pleasant,’ whispered Crabb taking one of the other chairs.
Ravenscroft looked around the room with its comfortable armchairs, patterned carpet, Regency sideboard and delicate ornaments, and could not help feeling the contrast with the previous room he had just visited. Whereas the Jacobsons’ room had a darkened, almost claustrophobic atmosphere, this room evidenced much light and warmth, and displayed a care and attention to detail of its occupants. A painting of a small Georgian country house, set in woodland, hung in centre place over the fireplace, and the mantel itself was adorned by old photographs of numerous people in ornate silver frames.
‘Now here we are,’ said Arabella Fanshaw returning to the room bearing a large silver tray, closely followed by her sister, after a few minutes had elapsed.
‘Allow me, miss,’ said Crabb standing up and taking hold of the tray.
‘Thank you, constable,’
‘Where would you like me to place it, miss?’
‘On the table over there by the chair, if you will.’
‘You have delightful rooms here,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘You must have been here for quite a while?’
‘Ten years,’ said the younger sister speaking for the first time.
‘Twelve, my dear Clarisa, if I am not mistaken,’ corrected Arabella.
‘So you have not always lived in Pershore?’ asked Ravenscroft glancing across at the painting.
‘No, we came originally from Ireland, near Coleraine,’ offered Clarisa.
‘How do you like your tea, inspector,’ interrupted Arabella turning to face Ravenscroft.
‘Just a little milk and sugar.’
‘And you, constable?’
‘The same miss, thank you’, replied Crabb.
‘Now how can my sister and I be of assistance to you?’ asked Arabella after Ravenscroft and Crabb had been handed their cups. ‘We were given to understand that poor Mr Jones died from eating too much of that dreadful soup that Mrs Talbot cooked for us all. We were both quite ill ourselves in the night.’
‘That is what we first thought, but new evidence has come to light which suggests that Mr Jones was in fact poisoned,’ replied Ravenscroft.
‘Oh, good heavens!’ exclaimed the younger sister with a look of alarm.
‘Now then, Clarisa, do not distress yourself. Go on, inspector,’ said the anxious elder sister.
‘In fact it appears that Mr Jones did not in fact partake of the soup during the dinner. We believe that poison had been placed in his bottle of tawny port.’
‘How perfectly awful,’ said the younger sister turning away.
‘How perfectly dreadful. Who can have done such a terrible thing?’ added Arabella.
‘That is what we would like to know. Can either of you ladies provide us with any information regarding the dead man? Did he ever speak to you, or confide in you perhaps?’
‘No, Mr Jones said very little. Of course, he was only with us for just under two weeks. I don’t think he wanted to talk to anyone very much. Not a sociable kind of person at all. We did try to engage him in conversation, but he expressed little interest,’ replied Arabella with a slight hint of disapproval.
‘Do you recall if he spoke with anyone else in particular?’ continued Ravenscroft.
‘No. There was no one.’
‘Did he ever give any indication what his business was here in Pershore, or where he might have originated?’
‘I think he—,’ began the younger sister.
‘Mr Jones did mention that he would only be with us for a short time,’ interrupted Arabella.
‘Did he say where he might be going to when he left this establishment?’ asked Ravenscroft sipping his tea.
‘He might have mentioned once that he was waiting for a letter which might take him shortly to London,’ offered Arabella.
‘That is interesting — and do you know whether he received such a letter?’
‘I don’t know. If he did, he certainly did not mention it.’
‘Did Mr Jones ever give any indication that he had previously been known to any of the residents of Talbots’?’
‘What a strange question to ask, inspector,’ smiled Arabella.
‘It may be that the deceased gentleman had previously encountered one of the residents here sometime in the past, and that this other person may have had a reason to poison him.’
‘How extraordinary. More tea, inspector?’
‘No thank you, Miss Fanshaw. So there was no one in particular whom you saw conversing with Mr Jones?’
‘No one,’ said Clarisa in a quiet voice and with a vacant expression.
‘No one,’ echoed Arabella, ‘Although there was one occasion I recall, about three or four days ago, when I happened to be on the landing one evening, and I saw Mr Jones and Miss Martin conversing together at the foot of the stairs. Of course they may have been exchanging casual gossip about the weather. They were speaking in hushed tones together and I know that when they observed me Miss Martin seemed somewhat agitated, and quickly moved away and entered the dining room alone.’
‘I see. That is most interesting, Miss Fanshaw,’ said Ravenscroft looking up at Crabb who was making notes in his pocket book.
‘You did not mention that to me,’ said Clarisa.
‘Of course I did, Clarisa. I mentioned it to you later that same evening. It is just that you have forgotten, as usual. I expect it was all rather innocent,’ added Arabella.
‘I am sure you are correct. We have yet to interview Miss Martin. Finally, can either of you good ladies think why anyone at Talbots’ would have wanted Mr Jones dead?’
‘No. No one at all. All this is quite terrible, inspector. We simply cannot believe that anyone would have wanted to poison poor
Mr Jones,’ said Arabella. ‘Certainly no one here.’
‘I thought he was quite a nice man,’ added Clarisa.
‘I am sure we will not sleep easily in our beds, inspector, until you have caught the person who has committed this terrible deed.’
‘I expect we will soon be able to discover whoever is responsible for this dark deed,’ said Ravenscroft placing his cup on the table and rising to his feet. ‘Thank you so much for the tea. Rest assured, ladies, we will do everything we can to apprehend the perpetrator.’
‘I do hope so, inspector,’ said Arabella as she and her sister rose from their seats.
‘I wish you good day, ladies. You have been most helpful,’ said Ravenscroft as he and Crabb were shown through the door.
* * *
‘Well they seem a couple of nice ladies,’ remarked Crabb after the door had been closed behind them. ‘Wouldn’t say boo to a goose.’
Ravenscoft smiled. ‘It is no use our calling upon Mr Claybourne at present, as both the maid and Talbot said that he was away in London. So, I think we will go upstairs and see if we can find Miss Martin.’
Ravenscroft and Crabb retraced the steps of their previous visit and found themselves again on the second-floor landing where the dead man, Jones, had lodged, and knocked on the door opposite.
‘Good morning. Miss Martin, I presume?’ asked Ravenscroft addressing the tall, slim, young lady who opened the door to them. ‘My name is Ravenscroft, Inspector Ravenscroft. I wonder if I might have a few words with you regarding the late Mr Jones?’
‘Yes of course. Mr Talbot mentioned that you had called yesterday,’ replied the woman leading the way into the small sitting room. ‘Do please sit down, inspector.’
Ravenscroft accepted the chair and glanced briefly round the simply furnished room.
‘I was given to understand from Talbot that poor Mister Jones had died through eating too much of the soup,’ said Miss Martin sitting down on a blue, buttonbacked sewing chair and looking directly at Ravenscroft over the top of her spectacles.
‘That is what we were led to believe yesterday, but new evidence has come to light to suggest that Mr Jones was deliberately poisoned,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘That is awful — but how?’
‘Someone put poison in his tawny, miss,’ said Crabb.
‘How terrible, but I don’t understand, why would anyone do such a thing?’ asked the young woman quickly rising from the chair, and walking across to the window, where she looked anxiously through the glass.
‘That is what we would like to find out,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘But he was such a nice gentleman. Poison, you said? I cannot comprehend such a deed.’
‘Forgive me, Miss Martin, I did not wish to cause you any alarm. May I ask if you had formed some attachment to the said gentleman?’ asked Ravenscroft rather hesitantly.
‘No. No, of course I had not. I had only known Mr Jones for just under two weeks. We had conversed once or twice together, that is all. Why do you ask such a question?’ asked Miss Martin.
‘It is just that Miss Fanshaw recalled you and Mr Jones talking together on the landing one evening,’ said Ravenscroft realizing that if he was to arrive at the truth regarding the relationship he would have to be more forthright in his questioning.
‘I do not recall such a conversation. Miss Fanshaw must be mistaken. The only time when I spoke with Mr Jones was at the dinner table when others were present,’ replied Miss Martin abruptly turning round to face Ravenscroft.
‘So you cannot provide us with any information, miss, regarding the said gentleman?’ asked Crabb.
‘No.’
‘He never spoke of where he had lived before his arrival here, or where he intended going in the future?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘No. I have told you that Mr Jones did not confide in me,’ said the lady resuming her seat and placing her hands tightly together on her lap.
‘There has been talk of a letter,’ said Ravenscroft leaning forwards. ‘Apparently Mr Jones was awaiting delivery of a letter.’
‘I know of no such letter. Mr Jones did not mention anything about a letter to me.’
‘Can you think of anyone at Talbots’ who might have borne a grudge against Mr Jones?’
‘No. As I said Mr Jones was a very quiet man. He kept very much to himself. I would not have known if he had any enemies.’
‘Did you ever observe Mr Jones in conversation with any of the other residents? continued Ravenscroft.
‘No. As I said, he kept very much to himself.’
‘May I ask how long you have lived here at Talbots’ Miss Martin?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Why do you ask such a question? It surely cannot have any relevance to the death of Mr Jones.’
‘We are just trying to find out as much as we can about the residents here,’ said Ravenscroft, feeling somewhat disconcerted by the young lady’s offhand manner.
‘Because you believe that one of us may have poisoned Mr Jones?’
‘Indeed, Miss Martin. Someone in this house put poison in Mr Jones’s drink, and Constable Crabb and I have a duty to reveal and apprehend the culprit.’
‘I see. Well, to answer your question, inspector, I have resided here for the past three years. I have a small annuity left to me by my aunt which enables me to live a comfortable, but careful existence. Now, if that is all I can tell you . . .’ said Miss Martin rising quickly from her seat.
‘What can you tell me about the other guests here?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘I do not see that it is my concern to pass any comment on other people.’
‘It would greatly help us in our inquiries, Miss Martin, if you could assist us in this matter,’ persisted Ravenscroft.
‘The two Miss Fanshaws have lived here the longest. Professor Jacobson came originally from Russia I believe, and his wife from London. Mr Claybourne is a commercial gentleman and is only with us for two or three days each week. Count Turco is a musician from Italy, and Mr. Cherrington I know little of as he has only been with us for a few weeks. That is all I can tell you, Inspector Ravenscroft.’
‘And Talbot?’ asked Ravenscroft keen to observe the other’s reaction.
‘I have little to do with either Mr Talbot or his wife,’ replied Miss Martin turning away from Ravenscroft and looking directly across towards the window once more.
‘Thank you, Miss Martin,’ said Ravenscroft rising to his feet. ‘I appreciate your assistance.’
‘I will show you out, inspector. I still cannot comprehend why anyone here would have wanted Mr Jones dead.’
‘Well someone did, miss,’ said Crabb.
‘Thank you again, Miss Martin,’ said Ravenscroft as he and Crabb left the room.
‘She’s hiding something, sir,’ whispered Crabb after the door had been closed.
‘I think you are correct, Tom. She was certainly very defensive in her answers. I think she knows more about the dead man than she is telling us, and did you see how she turned away when I mentioned Talbot. You may recall that Mrs Talbot hinted that her husband made have had some association with Miss Martin.’
‘Young lady all alone like that, with limited means, must feel vulnerable at times.’
‘Yes. I wonder why she has never married? Plain, but not unattractive, probably in her late twenties. Not unnatural that she could have been drawn towards our Mr Jones,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Anyone would have been an improvement on Talbot,’ added Crabb.
‘I wonder what bought her here to Pershore? And if Talbot had been making unwelcome advances towards Miss Martin, why then did she not just leave?’
‘Limited funds?’ suggested Crabb. ‘Talbots’ is cheap.’
‘You are probably right.’
‘Shall we go back and question her more?’
‘No, we will leave that until we have interviewed the other guests. We still have one more flight. Listen, I think I can hear the sound of a violin being played,’ said Ravenscr
oft.
‘Sounds a bit sad to me,’ remarked Crabb.
The two men followed the plaintive melody up the winding creaking staircase until they found themselves on a narrow darkened landing.
‘This must be where the musician Turco resides,’ said Ravenscroft banging on one of the two doors.
The music ceased and was shortly followed by the abrupt opening of the door.
‘Who is it that dares to disturb the wonderful tunes of the glorious maestro Paganini?’ enquired a bearded man glaring at Ravenscroft.
‘I trust I have the honour of addressing Count Turco,’ replied Ravenscroft. ‘Forgive the intrusion, count.’
‘Music is a sacred thing, sir. He who violates its flow has-a no inner feeling,’ said the man brandishing a violin bow in the detective’s direction.
‘My name is Inspector Ravenscroft. This is my colleague Constable Crabb. We would like a few words with you regarding the late Mr Jones. If you could spare us some minutes of your time, we would be obliged.’
The musician flung open the rest of the door, and with a flourish indicated that the two policemen should enter.
Ravenscroft found himself in a near empty room where the only contents appeared to be a collection of music scores scattered around the floor, and a music stand which took centre place on a faded Turkish mat which had seen better days. The man’s wayward black hair, piercing green eyes and dirty bottle-green waistcoat and grubby breeches seemed to complement the spartan surroundings.
‘And what would you-a like to know?’ snapped the occupant.
‘You are aware that your fellow lodger Mr Jones was poisoned?’ began Ravenscroft.
‘That awful soup! I told them the soup was bad. They dare to call it a soup! This English food it is so bad, so bad!’ exclaimed Turco waving his violin in the air before leaning it against a wall.
‘No, it was not the soup. We have reason to believe that someone put poison in Mr Jones’s port.’
‘Hah! So it was not-a the soup at all. Perhaps it should have been. I know nothing of any poison. Now you-a go, and leave me with the beautiful Paganini. Yes?’
‘I wonder if you could tell us anything about the deceased man?’ asked Ravenscroft ignoring the last request.
