The Ledbury Lamplighters (10 page)

‘It was just that Robertson was wearing the coat when he was killed. Did Robertson ever mention the town of Ledbury to you in any conversation you had with him?’ asked Ravenscroft.

‘No.’

‘Did Mr Robertson have any relatives that you know of?’

‘No. He was a single gentleman, I believe.’

‘So he never mentioned any relations or acquaintances?’

‘No. He appeared to be quite alone in the world.’

‘I wonder if I might have a look at his room?’ asked Ravenscroft, rising from his seat.

‘Yes, of course, but I don’t see what use that will be to you, Inspector.’

‘I believe that Mr Robertson went to Ledbury for a specific purpose. There may be something in his room which may help us to determine the reason for his visit.’

The butler led the way up three flights of stairs at the rear of the house, and through a door which opened out on to a landing. ‘Mr Robertson’s room was there,’ indicated Saunders, pointing to one of the rooms.

‘Thank you. You mentioned that Mr Robertson appeared quite alone in the world. There must have been someone in the house whom he confided in?’ asked Ravenscroft, opening the door to the coachman’s room.

‘There was no one in particular. There was perhaps Simpson, the
maid. They walked out once or twice, that’s all, nothing serious. She opened the door to you when you arrived.’

‘Mr Saunders, you have been more than helpful. I wonder if I might speak with Simpson?’

‘Yes, I suppose so. I’ll ask her to come up here.’

‘That would be most kind of you. Before you go, however, there is one more thing you could do for me.’

‘Anything, Inspector.’

‘What did Robertson do in his spare time?’

‘Nothing really. He usually kept to his room.’

‘So the only time he went out was when he was performing his duties with Sir James?’

‘Yes.’

‘It may be useful to our enquiries if we could build up a picture of the dead man’s activities. I wonder if it would be possible for you to make a list of the places where Robertson used to take Sir James?’

‘That may be difficult, Inspector. Robertson was used to taking Sir James to a great many places in London.’

‘I appreciate that. A list of perhaps the most frequent places would be useful.’

Ravenscroft listened to the butler’s footsteps making their way down the stairs and then turned his attention to the coachman’s living quarters. The room was simply furnished – a brass bed, wash stand, chest of drawers, bedside cabinet, small bookcase and a chair – and a mahogany-framed cracked mirror hung on one of the walls, while a thin, plain rug lay on the floor. Clearly Sir James Stanhope’s fashionable concerns for the appearance of his servants did not extend to their rooms. He opened the chest of drawers and went through them one at a time, but found only various items of clothing, then took down the five or six books from the bookcase and examined them in detail for any loose papers or inscriptions. A search of the wardrobe and its contents proved equally futile. Finally he opened the top drawer of the bedside cabinet, and lifted out a small framed print which he found there.

He walked over to the window so that he might obtain a better view of the contents of the frame. The print was an early nineteenth-century view of the exterior of an unnamed church,
similar to many thousands of others that had been produced at that time to illustrate topographic books. Ravenscroft studied the print, and the more he looked at it the more it seemed to be familiar to him. He began to wonder why Robertson had kept such an insignificant framed print in his bedside cabinet. He turned the frame over but found no writing on the back to indicate the name of the church, but then, observing that it was loose, he lifted up the one rusty tack that was holding the frame together and removed the print from its housing. There in faded writing on the back of the print were the words ‘Ledbury Church, Herefordshire. 1805’. So that was why the print had looked so familiar to Ravenscroft – and that was why Robertson had journeyed to Ledbury! He had not chosen to travel to Ledbury at random – the town obviously had some appeal or fascination for the coachman. Robertson had kept the print in the cabinet by the side of his bed because of its strong associations. Perhaps Robertson had once lived in Ledbury?

The door opened. Simpson the maid entered. Ravenscroft noticed that she had been crying. ‘You asked to see me, sir?’

‘Yes. I’m sorry to be the bringer of such bad news.’

The maid said nothing and looked down at the floor.

‘Please take a seat, Miss Simpson’ said Ravenscroft, pointing to the only chair in the room.

‘You say Mr Robertson has been killed?’ asked Simpson, seating herself. ‘Murdered, so Mr Saunders said.’

‘I’m afraid so. I understand that Mr Robertson was used to confiding in you?’

‘Not really, sir.’

‘Oh, I was given to understand from Mr Saunders that you and Mr Robertson went out together upon a number of occasions?’

‘Yes, sir. But there was never anything in it, if you take my meaning. It was only once or twice.’

‘I see, so you and Mr Robertson were not in any way close to one another?’ asked Ravenscroft, trying to put the matter as delicately as he could.

‘No. There was nothing at all like that.’

‘Nevertheless, you and Mr Robertson were used to conversing with one another?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Did he ever mention any relatives or friends at all?’

‘No, sir. I think he was alone in the world, sir.’

‘Do you happen to know where he was going for Christmas?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Did he ever mention a place called Ledbury to you?’ asked Ravenscroft, beginning to think that he was clutching at straws.

‘No, sir. I have never heard of Ledbury.’

‘So you don’t know why Mr Robertson was going there at Christmas?’

‘No, sir.’

‘I want you to think very carefully now, Miss Simpson, before you answer my next question. Did you speak with Mr Robertson on the morning of his departure?’

‘No, sir. I did not see Mr Robertson at all on the morning he left.’

‘I see,’ said Ravenscroft, feeling somewhat dejected by the failure of his questions.

‘I did speak with Mr Robertson the night before.’

‘Can you recall what Mr Robertson said?’ asked Ravenscroft hopefully.

‘He said he had some important papers to dispose of in a safe place, and that he needed to get away from London as soon as possible.’

‘I see. How did he seem when he spoke with you?’

‘How do you mean, sir?’

‘Did Mr Robertson seem anxious in any way? Did he appear frightened, or did he say those words in a lighthearted way?’

‘Oh no, sir, he wasn’t making a joke or anything like that. He was quite serious, and yes I suppose he did seem a little anxious, now you mention it.’

‘Did he tell you what the papers were?’ asked Ravenscroft, believing that at last he might be on the verge of gaining some important information from the maid.

‘No, sir. I do remember that the papers were in a large envelope, like a packet. Brown, it was.’

‘Did you see inside the packet?’

‘No, sir. It was sealed.’

‘When Mr Robertson said he had to get away from London, did he say anything else?’

‘He said that if he did not leave soon, there would be others who
would prevent him from going.’

‘Can you remember his exact words?’

The maid thought deeply for a moment. ‘Yes, sir. He said, “There are some people who would stop at nothing to get their hands on that packet.”’

‘Some people who would stop at nothing to get their hands on that packet,’ repeated Ravenscroft. ‘Did he say anything else?’

‘No, sir – nothing else.’

‘He never said who those people were?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Thank you, Miss Simpson. You have been most helpful. One final question before you go. Does the name Montacute mean anything to you? Did Mr Robertson ever mention the name Montacute to you?’

‘No, sir. Can I go now?’ asked the maid, standing up.

‘Yes – and thank you.’

‘Will you catch the person who killed poor Mr Robertson?’

‘I sincerely hope so,’ said Ravenscroft as the maid left the room.

He stood for some minutes looking down at the print. So Robertson had left London in a hurry, taking a packet of important papers with him – and had chosen to travel to Ledbury because he knew the town. Did he travel to Ledbury to meet someone? Someone he could trust with the envelope? ‘There would be others who would prevent him’, that is what the maid had said. Who were these ‘others’ and what was so important about the contents of the envelope that had caused Robertson to leave quickly and travel to Ledbury? No packet had been found on the dead man. Had he been robbed of the packet when he had been killed – or had Robertson managed to pass over the envelope and its contents to someone else in the town before his death?

Ravenscroft returned the print to its frame and replaced it inside the drawer of the cabinet, knowing that its owner would never be returning to reclaim it. Then, closing the door of the room behind him, he made his way down the three flights of stairs until he reached the kitchens.

‘Ah, Mr Ravenscroft,’ said Saunders the butler, coming forward to meet him. ‘I have tried to compile a list of the places that Robertson and Sir James visited. It is quite long, I’m afraid, and perhaps not comprehensive enough to be of use to you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Ravenscroft, taking the paper and reading down the list of places. ‘Sir James is quite a man about town.’

‘Whites, that is the name of Sir James’s club, and those are a list of Sir James’s friends. Lord Arthur Somerset is a particular friend – he is, I believe, an equerry to the Prince of Wales,’ said Saunders, pointing to the paper.

‘Sir James is used to socializing in important social circles, I can see,’ said Ravenscroft, recognizing the names of two or three cabinet ministers and several prominent churchmen.

‘That is Sir James’s tailors, and a jewellers in Mayfair that he frequents to buy presents for his friends, and that is a gaming club in Pall Mall.’

‘I’m impressed by your diligence and assistance, Mr Saunders,’ said Ravenscroft.

‘Oh, I realize I have missed off one other place that Sir James often visits. I don’t know the exact address, but I believe it is in Cleveland Street.’

‘Cleveland Street,’ said Ravenscroft, looking up. ‘Do you know why Robertson and Sir James went there?’

‘No, sir, I cannot help you.’

‘Thank you, Mr Saunders. This list may prove very useful,’ said Ravenscroft, folding up the piece of paper and placing it in his pocket.

‘Shall I inform Sir James that you called?’

‘By all means. Should you or Sir James have any further information regarding Robertson, I would be grateful if you would send a message to the police station in Ledbury.’

‘Certainly, sir.’

Ravenscroft shook hands with the butler on the doorstep of the house, and strode away down the street, his mind busily considering all that he had uncovered at the coachman’s residence. When he had entered the building, not thirty minutes previous, he had been unsure what he expected to gain. He now knew why Robertson had been killed, and perhaps why he had gone to Ledbury – but he was as far away as ever from finding out who had killed him and what connection the coachman’s death had with the demise of Nathaniel Montacute.

Then there was Cleveland Street. He had heard the name of that street mentioned before, but could not remember when, or by
whom. If only he could recall.… The name intrigued him. What was so special about Cleveland Street? Finally he gave up trying to remember – Cleveland Street was after all only one place on a very long list.

Ravenscroft looked out of his compartment window at the snow-covered fields. In another hour he would be returning to Ledbury, and after two days of following the deceased coachman’s trail around London, he was now somewhat relieved that his weary search had been halted. The arrival of Crabb’s telegram informing him that he was needed to give evidence at the inquests of Montacute and Robertson had necessitated his leaving the capital. Two days of investigations had revealed very little. Certainly he had discovered the coachman’s name, found out where he resided, and uncovered his possible reasons for visiting Ledbury on Christmas Eve and the motive behind his death, but he was no further forward in ascertaining who had killed the man or what the mysterious package might have contained. However, as he had walked the streets of London, he had become more and more convinced that the answers to his questions would be found not there but in Ledbury. The murderer and the package were more likely to be there than in some tree-lined square or gaming club in London, and if he could only discover the dead man’s association with the town then all might be revealed. The rest of the places that Sir James Stanhope and his coachman were in the habit of frequenting could wait for another day.

Then there was Nathaniel Montacute’s murder to be solved. It seemed more than a coincidence that both men had been murdered within a few days of each other, but at present he could see no connection between the two. His investigations into the banker’s
poisoning had thrown up a number of suspects: Catherwood, Rivers, Onslow, Leewood and the two Montacute brothers all came to mind and he would not be surprised if Crabb had come up with yet more during his absence. The trouble was that although he could see any one of these men killing Montacute, he could find no possible reason why any of them should have wanted to murder the stranger Robertson. And yet the coachman had kept the old print of Ledbury church in his bedside cabinet, as a kind of keepsake or memory, so he must have had some connection with the town. He knew now that when he returned to Ledbury his first priority would be to try and find out Robertson’s connection with the market town – there had to be someone he had met on the day he had visited Ledbury, or perhaps even someone he had known previously.

The sound of the door to his compartment being opened broke into his deliberations.

‘I say, it’s Ravenswood, isn’t it?’ said the unmistakable tones of Rupert Montacute, throwing himself down on one of the seats.

‘Ravenscroft. Good day to you, Mr Montacute.’

‘Caught the old man’s killer yet?’

‘We are proceeding with our investigations,’ replied Ravenscroft, able to smell the drink on the young man’s breath despite the distance between them.

‘That means no, then.’

‘These things take time, Mr Montacute.’

‘Suppose so. Miss the old man, you know. Damned shame for someone to go and poison him like that. He was a bit stingy and frightfully dull, but that was no excuse for someone to go and kill him.’

‘Your stepmother seems very upset,’ suggested Ravenscroft.

‘Yes, shame for her as well. Marrying Papa like that just two years ago, and then he goes and gets himself murdered! Still, I suppose she’ll be all right.’

‘Oh, why do you say that?’

‘Well, he’ll have left her all his money, won’t he? Stands to sense that he would look after her, what with her being much younger than he was. Fancy a drink, Ravenswood?’ said Montacute, taking out a hipflask from his pocket and attempting to pass it over to the detective.

‘Er, not for me, thank you.’

‘Please yourself then. Don’t mind if I do?’ asked the young man, taking a swig from the flask.

‘It must have been hard for you when your mother died,’ said Ravenscroft, hoping that Rupert might provide him with additional information.

‘Yes, Mama, the blessed Enid Montacute! Do you know, she was a saint, my mother. Saint Enid of Ledbury, that’s what we used to call her. Saint Enid of Ledbury! On all the local welfare committees, was my mother – local hospital, relief for the poor – you know the sort of thing. Never refused a request from a needy soul, did my mother. Worked tirelessly for the good of the community,’ explained young Montacute, lying back in his seat and adopting a reflective, melancholic tone.

‘I understand that she died quite suddenly?’

‘Got some infection or picked up some fever or other. Nothing anyone could do for her. Went down very quickly. All of us were put out by her death. Saint Enid, poor old Enid Montacute. Old Catherwood never got over her death.’

‘Oh, why Mr Catherwood?’ asked Ravenscroft, wondering why Rupert had singled him out in particular.

‘Oh, you don’t know about my mother and Mr Catherwood?’ enquired Rupert, leaning forward and speaking in a quiet, slurred voice. ‘My mother and old Catherwood, they were once lovers! Many years ago, of course, when I was a young minnow. Caught them kissing in the garden once – the saintly Enid and that Yorkshire terrier! No one knew about it but me – and of course my mother. She knew that I knew. That would explain why she always gave me a wide berth after that. Left me to go my own way. Now look at me. God, it’s all a mess!’

Ravenscroft said nothing, and looked out of the window. So that was why Catherwood had never left the town – he and Enid Montacute had been lovers. He wondered whether the old banker had discovered his wife’s infidelity and whether it had been Enid that had caused the rift between the two former business partners all those years ago? If so, that would explain a great deal.

He turned back in Rupert’s direction but found that the young man had fallen asleep, his head slumped to one side, the hipflask lying on his lap. He could not help but feel sympathetic towards
young Rupert. No wonder the youth had turned into the sorry specimen he now saw before him, after being shunned by his father and ignored by his mother.

A few minutes later, as the train entered the Colwall tunnel, Ravenscroft leaned over and shook the young man’s shoulder.

‘God, I must have dropped off. Sorry about that, old man.’

‘The train is just coming into Colwall station. Next stop Ledbury,’ said Ravenscroft.

‘Good job you woke me up, or I’d have ended up in Hereford. Look, I hope I did not say anything silly just now? I’m inclined to ramble on a bit at times. Take no notice. It’s only the drink, you know.’

‘Not to worry.’

‘We’re a bad lot, us Montacutes. Brother against brother and all that!’

Ravenscroft smiled.

A few minutes later the train drew into Ledbury station. Ravenscroft and his fellow passenger alighted from their compartment and went their separate ways.

‘Good morning to you, sir. I trust your visit to London bore fruit?’ asked Crabb, joining Ravenscroft at the entrance to the station.

‘I discovered the dead man’s identity. He was a coachman, as we suspected, who worked for a young aristocrat by the name of Sir James Stanhope in a fashionable part of London. I also found that the man had some previous connection with Ledbury, and that he left London in a hurry on Christmas Eve.’

As the two men walked down towards the town, Ravenscroft recounted his investigations in London. ‘I must admit that your telegram came as a welcome relief. I was becoming tired of visiting all those clubs in London and calling upon Sir James’s associates. But tell me, Crabb, have you made any progress with the investigation here?’ asked Ravenscroft, relieved that the snow had at least melted from the roads during his absence.

‘I must have interviewed quite a good number of the people who were at the Lamplighters’ Ball, but not one of them can remember either anyone leaving the room when the lights came back on, or indeed seeing anything unusual at all,’ replied Crabb.

‘I’m not surprised. Our killer was very skilled.’

‘Oh, and there have been two or three possible sightings of the escaped convict, Leewood, in various places such as Stoke Edith and Mathon, but nothing definite.’

‘People often imagine something which they want to see,’ muttered Ravenscroft.

‘No one has come forward with any information about the dead coachman. I checked the local hotels and boarding establishments in both Ledbury and Malvern but no one can remember him making a booking. The clerk at the station can recall him arriving about midday on Christmas Eve, but that’s all.’

‘You have been very busy, Tom.’

‘The inquest opens in about two hours’ time, sir.’

‘Then there is just time for me to go home, see my wife, and change out of these clothes.’

‘Thank you, Inspector Ravenscroft. You may step down.’

Ravenscroft made his way back to his seat in the crowded courtroom as the coroner began his summing up.

‘It would appear that Nathaniel Montacute was poisoned by a person, or persons, unknown. I will therefore enter a verdict of unlawful killing. I appreciate that the police are conducting further enquiries. The court offers its sincere condolences to Mrs Montacute and to other members of the Montacute family. Turning now to the stranger, Robertson, who was killed in such a brutal fashion out on Dog Hill. From what Inspector Ravenscroft has told the court, the stranger worked as a coachman in the city of London. As further enquiries are still taking place, both in London and in Ledbury, I will record an open verdict until further information is forthcoming as to the deceased’s purpose in visiting the town and the reasons for his untimely demise.’

‘Excuse me, your honour. I am Doctor Andrews. I have been appointed by the Montacute family to make a formal request for the release of Nathaniel Montacute’s body, so that he may be buried as soon as possible,’ asked the medical man, rising to his feet.

‘Thank you, Doctor Andrews. I see no reason why the court should not accede to such a request, unless of course, Inspector Ravenscroft, you have any objections?’

‘None that I can think of, your honour.’

‘Very well. Court is adjourned.’

Ravenscroft and Crabb made their way through the departing throng. ‘Ah, there is someone over there I need to speak with. Major Onslow, if I could just have a few words with you?’

‘Better make it snappy, Ravenscroft. Got important meeting with me solicitor in ten minutes,’ replied the master of the Ledbury hunt.

‘I won’t detain you long, sir. If you would step outside where it is quieter?’

‘Right, Ravenscroft, ask away,’ demanded Onslow, once the three men had moved away from the departing crowds.

‘Major Onslow, can you remember where you were just before the lights went out at the Lamplighters’ Ball?’ asked Ravenscroft.

‘Good God, man, how the deuce can you expect me to remember something so mundane?’ snapped Onslow.

‘It is very important, sir.’

‘Well, I suppose I was helping myself to one of those sausage rolls from off the table. Just about to pour meself another glass of wine, when those blasted fellows came in and put out all the lights.’

‘You’re sure about that, sir?’ asked Ravenscroft.

‘Course I’m sure. Would not have said so had it not been true,’ growled the major, who was clearly anxious to be on his way to his appointment.

‘I only ask because Mrs Montacute remembers that you were speaking with her and her husband just as the lights went out,’ said Ravenscroft, attempting to placate the major by speaking in a calm manner.

‘Hmm,’ replied Onslow, scratching his ear and looking deep in thought. ‘Can’t remember that. Might have spoken to them earlier in the evening, I suppose. Look, got to be on my way. Yer knows where I live if you’ve got any more questions.’

‘There is just one more thing, Major. When the lights went out and then when they came back on again, were you aware of anyone suddenly leaving or entering the room?’

‘No. Don’t believe I was. Must dash,’ said Onslow, striding away and quickly making his way down the Homend.

‘Well, that’s interesting, sir,’ said Crabb. ‘Mrs Montacute says that the major was talking with her when the lights went out, but he says he was helping himself to some of the food and pouring himself a drink at the time.’

‘Yes, Tom, which leads us to suppose that either Major Onslow is telling us an untruth, or that Mrs Montacute is at fault when she says she was speaking with Onslow just before her husband was murdered,’ said Ravenscroft.

‘Maybe the two of them did speak with one another earlier, as the Major said?’

‘You could be right.’

‘Where to next, sir?’ asked Crabb.

‘I think we should pay another visit to Mr Catherwood. When I spoke with Rupert Montacute on the train, he indicated that his late mother and Catherwood were lovers at one time, which would explain why his business partnership broke up with Montacute and why he has remained in the town for all these years. If we are quick, we can be there before nightfall.’

As Crabb and Ravenscroft made their way out of Ledbury, the lamplighters were busy about their work, lighting the streets and lanes of the town in preparation for the dark, cold evening ahead. Groups of townspeople passed by the two policemen, anxious to be home, their coats buttoned up tight against the chilly night air. A stray cat ran across the path in front of them, seeking the warmth and privacy of the undergrowth, and as they neared Catherwood’s house they could hear the sound of the dogs alerted by their impending arrival.

‘Good evening to you, Mr Catherwood. Could we have a few words with you?’ called out Ravenscroft, observing that the landowner was standing at the entrance to his home.

‘Best come in then.’

They followed Catherwood into his house, as the dogs’ owner ordered his restless animals to sit still before the hearth.

‘You were not at the inquest, Mr Catherwood. Why was that?’ asked Ravenscroft.

‘Saw no reason to go. I have no interest in Montacute’s death. I was not there the night he died, so why should I be there now? I can see the appeal of such an inquest to idle, inquisitive folk, but I had more important things to do,’ replied Catherwood, throwing another log on the blazing fire.

‘Mr Catherwood, when I visited you the other day, you said that the reason for the animosity between you and Mr Montacute was
the failure of your business partnership some years ago,’ began Ravenscroft, sitting down on one of the chairs.