by Kerry Tombs
Then there was Miss Martin. Mrs Talbot had hinted of some kind of relationship between her husband and her lodger, and Miss Fanshaw had observed Miss Martin and Jones talking in low whispers on the landing one evening. Had she known Jones in the past, a former lover perhaps who had caused her great harm at that time, and whom she had now killed as an act of personal revenge? That was a possibility. Miss Martin had certainly adopted a defensive manner during his questioning. Why had she never married? In her late twenties, she was far from being unattractive, and if Talbot had made unwelcome advances towards her, why had she not left the lodging house rather than stay in a place where she would have seen the man day in and day out? Ravenscroft knew that he would need to question the spinster further if he were to obtain the truth.
Next there was the Italian violinist, Count Turco. He had claimed that Jones had complained about his playing and that there had been some kind of argument between the two men. The Italian behaved as though he possessed a volatile temperament. Could he have killed Jones in a rush of temper? Death by poisoning required careful planning however, and then again if Turco had killed Jones in this way why would he have drawn attention to himself by telling the policemen about their disagreement? Ravenscroft could see no obvious reason why Turco would have committed the crime, but there was something about the man that did not quite ring true. Was he really a Count? Did he even come from Italy? And had he been exaggerating when he claimed to give concerts in London, Manchester and Birmingham? Surely such a great artist as that would not have been reduced to living in a half-empty room, in a cheap lodging house in Pershore. No, he was sure that Turco had not told him the truth, but did that deception make him a murderer?
Lastly there had been Cherrington, a flamboyant man who appeared to like the good things in life. What was he doing then living at Talbots’? Had he really just come back to the country after five years on a tea plantation in India? Was he really waiting for funds to arrive, as he claimed, so that he could move on to better things? Ravenscroft doubted that the man had ever left the country, and believed that the funds were a creation of an over-active mind always seeking to impress. Mrs Talbot had described him as a “perfect gentleman” and on the surface that appeared to be true, but was the man merely putting on an act, seeking always to take centre stage and impress others? If the account of his past had been a true one, why would he then have come to a cheap lodging house, in a small country town, instead of finding more suitable, comfortable accommodation elsewhere? All of this of course did not make him the man who had poisoned Jones, unless the two men had known each other in the past, and Cherrington had taken it upon himself to remove his enemy in such a ruthless fashion. Could Jones have even been blackmailing Cherrington about a dubious past, threatening to expose him as a fraud. Was this why he had been silenced? That seemed a strong possibility. Was Cherrington just a man who liked to show off, or was there something more underhand about him? Cherrington was certainly a mystery, and the more he thought about the man, the more Ravenscroft was convinced that he had seen him somewhere before — but where, and in what circumstances? If only he could remember. . .
Then Ravenscroft realized that there was another suspect whom he had yet to interview — Claybourne, the commercial traveller, who had been absent during his two visits to the house. Just who was this Claybourne, and why did he rent a room there, and then occupy it for as little as two or three nights a week? Where did he originate, and was there really enough business in the town and its surrounding areas to warrant such an outlay of expenditure? If the man was using his room for so little time each week, would it not have been more prudent to stay at one of the nearby inns on the nights when he was resident in town? Was this Clayborne really a commercial traveller, and if so, what did he sell, or was this yet another kind of pretence, a mask for something more sinister? Ravenscroft knew that those questions could not be answered until the man returned, and until then he would have to keep an open mind.
So there they all were — a house full of possible suspects, each one appearing to have something to hide. A cheap lodging house where its inmates seemed to harbour strange secrets. The kind of establishment where people arrived with the sincere intention of staying for only a short period of time, until their circumstances changed for the better, but also a house from which its residents seemed unable to move away; the kind of house where dreams had long been abandoned, and where the past had almost eclipsed both the present and the future.
As Ravenscroft drained his glass and dampened down the fire, he knew that he would be returning to Pershore in the morning, and that his inquiries would continue there until he had unravelled those personal secrets, and had unmasked the quiet killer.
CHAPTER FIVE
PERSHORE
‘So we find ourselves once more in Pershore,’ remarked Ravenscroft as he and Crabb alighted from the trap.
‘What are we going to do today, sir?’ asked the constable.
‘More questions, I’m afraid. I think we both had the distinct impression yesterday that several of the lodgers at Talbots’ were not exactly telling us the truth. I am convinced that one of them must have encountered Jones in the past, and that was why the man had to be silenced. The problem is, which one? Who do you think is our chief suspect, Tom?’
‘Difficult to say, sir. As you said, they all appear to have something to hide, but if you ask me, I would say either that Miss Martin, or the Cherrington fellow.’
‘Oh, why do you say that?’
‘Well, I thought that Miss Martin was somewhat secretive and defensive in her answers. I reckoned she knew a lot more about Jones than she was prepared to tell us.’
‘Good reasoning, Tom — and Mr Cherrington?’
‘Rather too oily. Something about the man I did not like. I would certainly not trust him with the care of my grandmother. All wind and puff, or as we says in Worcestershire “if he was born under a threepenny planet he’d never be worth fourpence”.’
‘I’m inclined to agree with you,’ smiled Ravenscroft. ‘But I am sure I have seen the man somewhere before, and I just can’t recall where.’
‘You could have arrested him sometime during your time in Whitechapel, sir? suggested Crabb.
‘Maybe, but somehow I don’t think so.’
‘Is that not Mrs Jacobson on the other side of the road?’ asked Crabb.
‘I believe so. She certainly seems to be in a hurry. Without her husband I see. I wonder where she is going?’
‘Then there is that Claybourne,’ said Crabb returning to their discussion.
‘Ah yes. The mysterious Claybourne. We certainly need to have a word or two with him. I wonder if he has returned yet?’
‘Talk of the devil, sir. If I am not mistaken that is Mr Cherrington woffling along towards us now.’
‘And looking very presentable and assured he does with his carnation and walking stick.’
‘Good morning, Ravenscroft. Lovely day to be out in the autumn sunshine, would you not agree, inspector?’
‘It is indeed, Mr Cherrington,’ acknowledged Ravenscroft.
‘Thought I would take a stroll through the town and out towards the abbey. Never know whom you might meet. Have you made any progress with your inquiries?’
‘Our investigations are proceeding at a satisfactory pace.’
‘Splendid. Then we can look forwards to an early arrest?’
‘And have your funds arrived yet from India?’ enquired Ravenscroft, choosing to ignore the last question.
‘Alas, no. Just visited the bank. Non-arrival, I’m afraid — but imminent, so one lives in expectation and hope. You know how things are?’
‘I do indeed, Mr Cherrington.’
‘Well, if you will excuse me, inspector?’
‘Of course, sir. Enjoy your walk.’
‘Oh, I’m sure I will. Good day to you both,’ said Cherrington briefly raising his hat before striding off through the market place.
‘Come, Tom, le
t us return to Talbots’. I think we would benefit from having a further conversation with the Fanshaw sisters.’
‘Oh, why do you say that, sir?’ asked Crabb.
‘I expect that those two ladies know everything there is to know about the residents of Talbots’. Women of a certain age and standing make good observers, I find.’
* * *
‘Good morning to you, Miss Fanshaw,’ said Ravenscroft addressing the elder of the two sisters. ‘Constable Crabb and I would be glad of a few more words with you both.’
‘Who is it, dear?’ called a voice from inside the room.
‘It is that nice inspector and his young constable again,’ replied Arabella.
‘Oh, do show them in.’
Ravenscroft and Crabb entered the room.
‘I trust I find you well, ladies?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Very well inspector, thank you,’ replied Arabella. ‘How may we be of assistance to you?’
‘We were hoping that you could provide us with some information regarding your fellow lodgers.’
‘Oh, what kind of information, inspector? I hope you do not assume that we are the sort of people who engage in idle gossip about our fellow guests?’ said the older sister, a hint of reproach in the tone of her voice.
‘Certainly not,’ echoed Clarisa.
‘Indeed not, ladies. I would not dare to suggest such a thing, as I know that you are both entirely above reproach on that score. It is just that you have both resided here longer than anyone else, and may be able to provide us with valuable insights regarding the behaviour and characters of your fellow guests,’ said Ravenscroft seeking to placate the two women.
‘You had better take a seat, inspector,’ smiled Clarisa.
‘Thank you.’
‘Where would you like to start?’ enquired Arabella.
‘I wonder if we might begin with Professor Jacobson and his wife,’ suggested Ravenscroft accepting the seat as Crabb stood by the door and took out his pocketbook.
‘I don’t think you should write any of this down,’ said Clarisa looking anxiously in Crabb’s direction.
‘Of course not, miss. Crabb — if you will,’ instructed Ravenscroft.
‘Yes sir,’ acknowledged Crabb, replacing the pocketbook in his tunic.
‘Perhaps if your constable would also like to sit down,’ suggested Arabella.
‘Crabb, take that seat over there,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Now you were asking about Professor Jacobson. Such a strange couple. I suppose you have noticed that she is so very much younger?’ said Arabella, relieved that Crabb had assumed a less formal position in the room.
‘I did indeed observe that,’ replied Ravenscroft.
‘Of course, we don’t have very much to do with them. They are so very different from us. He comes from St.Petersburg, you know. He told us once of the terrible things they did there to people of the Jewish race. I suppose he was quite anxious to leave. He is quite a learned man by all accounts,’ continued Arabella.
‘And Mrs Jacobson?’ asked Ravenscroft anxious to know more about the odd couple.
‘Well she is certainly not Jewish,’ remarked Arabella.
‘I thought Jews could only marry Jews,’ added Clarisa.
‘I suppose they don’t always have to. I believe they met in London. In Whitechapel I understand,’ continued Arabella.
‘Oh dear, wasn’t that where all those terrible murders happened a few years ago?’ asked the younger sister nervously.
‘I believe they both left some three years before the murders took place,’ interrupted Ravenscroft seeking to reassure the ladies.
‘Oh that is a relief,’ said Clarisa.
‘Can you tell me anything about Mrs Jacobson?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘I believe she comes from quite a lowly background. She was a seamstress, I gather. Such an odd thing for a man like him to marry a girl like that,’ remarked Arabella.
‘Did you ever observe either of them talking with Mr Jones?’
‘No, I do not think so.’
‘What do you know about the professor’s blindness?’
‘I don’t quite understand you, inspector,’ said the older sister.
‘Professor Jacobson might not be as blind as he makes out, ladies,’ suggested Crabb.
‘Oh no, constable, he is quite blind, I can assure you. She has to lead him up the stairs and help serve his food. He is quite dependent upon her for everything,’ continued Arabella.
‘What can you tell me about Miss Martin?’ asked Ravenscroft. ‘You have already mentioned that you saw her and Mr Jones conversing together on the landing one evening.’
‘My sister and I do not entirely approve of Miss Martin,’ replied Arabella adopting a more formal defensive tone.
‘Oh, why is that?’ asked Ravenscroft keen to know more about their fellow lodger.
‘Miss Martin likes to give the impression that she is quite alone and defenceless in this world, when in fact the opposite is true. Look at all that trouble with Talbot,’ said Arabella.
‘I think you are being rather harsh on poor Miss Martin, my dear,’ said Clarisa.
‘What can you tell me about Talbot and Miss Martin?’ asked Ravenscroft leaning forwards in his seat and hoping that the two ladies would continue to be forthcoming in their observations of their fellow lodgers.
‘I caught them kissing together on the landing one evening last year. It was quite unseemly,’ announced Arabella.
‘You never mentioned it to me,’ said a startled Clarisa.
‘I did not wish to upset you, my dear. Talbot is always going up to her room, on some pretext or other, delivering her post, taking up coals for her fire, that sort of thing.’
‘I take it you do not approve of this, ladies?’ suggested Ravenscroft.
‘We certainly do not. He, a married man as well. I have seen her encouraging him. What does she want with a man like that, I ask you?’ continued Arabella.
‘Dear me, how terrible,’ muttered the younger sister.
‘A woman of her age should have acquired a husband of her own by now.’
‘I am interested in Count Turco,’ said Ravenscroft changing the subject of the conversation.
‘A strange man,’ said Arabella.
‘But he plays such lovely tunes on his violin,’ smiled Clarisa.
‘He often entertains us in the evenings after dinner,’ continued Arabella. ‘The poor man. All of course is not what it seems.’
‘Oh, why do you say that?’ asked Ravenscroft his curiosity aroused.
‘The Count is rather fond of the drink, to put it plainly. There have been times when he seemed quite unhappy with this world, and then he takes a bottle or two up to his room, and we do not see him for two, or even three days. All we can hear is the sound of that violin, so sad. Once I heard the poor man crying up there and there was the sound of furniture being knocked over, and shouting. It was all so distressing,’ said Arabella shaking her head.
‘So sad,’ echoed Clarisa.
‘Does the Count ever talk about his unhappiness?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘No. After these dark periods, he usually appears at breakfast the next day, being his usual excitable self,’ replied Arabella.
‘He did apologize once, I remember. He said it was the loneliness caused by his having left Italy and living in a strange country,’ added Clarisa.
‘They are so unpredictable these Italians,’ said Arabella. ‘I suppose it must be the result of all that sun.’
‘Do you see much of Mr Claybourne?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘He comes and goes. He is only here for one or two days a week,’ offered Clarisa.
‘Don’t you find it strange, ladies, that Mr Claybourne would rent a room for such a short period of time each week?’ continued Ravenscroft.
‘Well, yes I suppose it is rather odd. I must say we have never thought about it like that. He is usually here on a Monday night,’ said Arabella.
‘I am given to understand that Mr. Claybourne is some kind of commercial traveller?’ asked Ravenscroft interested in knowing more about the absent lodger.
‘Something very high up in insurance, I believe,’ answered the older sister.
‘Are you sure, my dear? I thought he was something to do with the surveying of the roads,’ suggested Clarisa.
‘What on earth makes you think that? No, I am sure it is insurance. He is an agent for one of the large companies,’ corrected Arabella.
‘I thought I saw him coming into the house holding one of those round things in which you roll up a long measuring tape.’
‘No Clarisa. It is insurance,’ sighed Arabella.
‘Insurance. I suppose you must be right, sister.’
‘What about Mr Cherrington, miss?’ asked Crabb.
‘Oh, a real gentleman,’ answered Arabella.
‘So polite,’ added Clarisa.
‘Such an interesting gentleman. Always so entertaining at dinner. Why, only last week he was telling us all about his days in India. Did you know, inspector, that he used to grow tea in India, on the slopes of the hills, so enterprising,’ smiled Arabella.
‘Yes, he did mention it to us,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Apparently he was once nearly eaten by a tiger!’ exclaimed Arabella.
‘Such a thrilling account!’ added Clarisa.
‘He was leading an expedition into the foothills, and it was just getting dark when a large angry tiger jumped out in front of the party and made to come towards them.’
‘And what did Mr. Cherrington do?’ enquired Crabb.
‘Apparently all the other members of the party ran away as fast as they could, but brave Mr Cherrington just stood his ground, and raised his rifle and shot the tiger straight between the eyes, just as the beast prepared to jump on him,’ recounted Arabella becoming more and more animated.
‘Such a thrilling story,’ said Clarisa.
