The Ledbury Lamplighters (7 page)

‘I see,' said Ravenscroft, looking sideways at Crabb. ‘Can you tell me where you were last night, Mr Catherwood?'

‘Here, as I am most nights.'

‘You live alone?'

‘I prefer it that way. People in Ledbury say I am a recluse, and that I keep to myself. Who am I to correct them in their assumptions?' said Catherwood, bending down and patting one of his dogs on its head.

‘So there is no one who can prove that you were here at your house last night?' asked Ravenscroft.

‘Only my dogs. I keep no servants – only an old woman from the town who comes up here to keep the house clean and cook me a meal in the middle of the day. That serves me well enough. I have little cause to go into the town.'

‘You have not seen Mr Montacute recently?'

‘Last time I saw Montacute was three years ago on the other side of the street. He barely noticed my existence.'

‘Do you have cause to still invest with Cocks and Biddulph?'

‘After all that has happened? I keep what little money I have left over to myself,' laughed Catherwood.

‘Well, sir, you have been most informative. Before we go, can you recall anyone else who may have lost money through dealings with Montacute?' asked Ravenscroft, getting to his feet.

‘None that I can name, though I'm sure there must have been others. Men like Montacute don't increase their wealth by doing large favours for those less fortunate than themselves,' said
Catherwood, motioning to the dogs that they were to remain where they were as the two policemen prepared to leave.

‘So you can think of no one who would have wanted Montacute dead?'

‘As I said, Inspector, there are almost certainly others out there whose dislike of the man may well have been greater than my own.'

‘Does the name Leewood mean anything to you? Joshua Leewood?'

‘Leewood? No, the name means nothing to me.'

‘Thank you, Mr Catherwood. If you remember anything that could assist us in our enquiries, I would be obliged if you would let us know,' said Ravenscroft, shaking the large, rough hand.

‘Let me see you out.'

As Ravenscroft and Crabb walked back towards the centre of the town, the former paused for a moment to turn round and look back at the building in the distance. ‘A strange kind of existence, living day after day with only two dogs and a visiting domestic for company. If Montacute had ruined Catherwood and caused him to become a recluse, you would have thought that Catherwood would have displayed more anger and bitterness towards the banker. Instead he seemed almost resigned to his fate, accepting that he could do little to alter circumstances.'

‘Perhaps, as he said, he has long forgotten the wrong that was done to him?' suggested Crabb as the two men resumed their walk.

‘In my experience, Crabb, men who have been financially ruined by another neither forgive nor feign indifference with the passage of time. Catherwood was far too accommodating for my liking. His calm, down-to-earth exterior may well be hiding an intense anger beneath. Either we are dealing with a man who really did not care what happened to Montacute, or with a very clever man who is more than capable of murder.'

‘Trouble is, sir, if no one saw him enter the Feathers in the dark, then we won't be able to prove that he is our murderer.'

‘Exactly, Crabb. Also, that inn has far too many entrances and exits for my liking. I wonder if there are others in the town who might have fallen out with Montacute over the years? Or was Catherwood just implying that there were others who hated the old banker in an attempt to deflect suspicion away from himself?' said Ravenscroft, quickening his pace.

‘If Catherwood did not kill Montacute, then who did? Rivers? Leewood? Both must be strong suspects, sir.'

‘Talking of Leewood, let us call in the mail office and see if we have had a reply to your telegram.'

A few minutes later the two men entered the mail office in the centre of the town.

‘Ah, Inspector Ravenscroft. I have a telegram from Hereford for you,' said the clerk, handing over the piece of paper.

‘Thank you, my good man,' said Ravenscroft, reading the message.

‘Well, Crabb, this looks interesting. It appears that Leewood managed to escape from Hereford gaol last week – and that no one has seen or heard of him since!'

The following morning, Ravenscroft stepped out of his cottage in Church Lane to discover that more snow had fallen during the night, and that the ground had become frozen by the late frost.

‘Need to be careful, sir,’ said Crabb, as the two men met up outside the police station.

‘Any news of the escaped convict, Leewood?’

‘None, sir. The Hereford police have posters up all over the town, and I have informed the stations in Malvern and Worcester to keep a lookout in case he shows up there. It seems he escaped two days before Christmas.’

‘Well done, Crabb. I wonder where the fellow is now? He can’t have got far in this weather, without any food or money.’

‘I suppose some former associate could be sheltering him? I went to Smoke Alley earlier this morning with a couple of the men but there was no sign of him there. I see what you mean when you said it resembled your old haunts in Whitechapel,’ said Crabb, stamping his feet on the ground in an attempt to keep warm.

‘I suppose that is probably the last place he would go to, knowing that it would be the first place we would go looking for him.’

‘So you think Leewood could be our killer, sir?’

‘He certainly had cause to seek his revenge on the old man, and he was certainly at large on New Year’s Eve. However, it would have been extremely difficult for him to have obtained a poisonous liquid, and even more difficult for him to have slipped into the Feathers unnoticed. By coming back to Ledbury, where he was
known, he would be sure to be seen and arrested sooner or later. If I had been Leewood, I would have put a great distance between the county and myself after my escape,’ said Ravenscroft, turning up the collar of his coat and pulling his hat further down his head.

‘He could have travelled west into Wales?’ suggested Crabb.

‘Possibly. Of course, we are assuming that Leewood would have behaved in a rational manner, whereas in fact his intense bitterness towards Montacute might have overridden common sense. Either way, we won’t know if he did kill Montacute until we’ve caught him.’

‘Where are we going today, sir?’

‘I sent word to The Gables, earlier this morning, saying that we would be calling on Mrs Montacute and would be desirous of speaking with her.’

‘Right, sir.’

The two men made their way from the high street and towards The Gables.

‘Thinking back to yesterday, Crabb, I find it strange that Catherwood remained in Ledbury after the end of his financial involvement with Montacute. You would have thought he would have sold up and gone back to Yorkshire. There was nothing to keep him here in Ledbury – so why did he not leave?’ said Ravenscroft, treading carefully on the frozen road.

‘Perhaps he could not afford to move?’

‘I would have thought the sale of his home and grounds would have netted a tidy sum. No. There has to be another reason why Catherwood has remained here all these years.’

‘Waiting for his time to kill Montacute?’

‘Rather a long time to wait to extract his revenge, don’t you think? He could have killed Montacute years ago – no need to wait until now.’

‘Perhaps he is wanted in Yorkshire for some previous crime he committed long ago, and was afraid to go back there?’

‘Whatever the reason, it does not seem to add up. Why stay in a town where you are regarded as some kind of strange recluse, and where your greatest enemy lives just down the road? We will need to enquire further into the affairs of Mr Catherwood.’

A voice interrupted their conversation. ‘Good day to you, gentlemen!’

‘Good morning, Mr Rivers. We were just on our way to The Gables to see Mrs Montacute,’ said Ravenscroft, observing that the gamekeeper was carrying a shotgun under his arm.

‘You don’t want me, then? I’m off to the woods, shooting pheasants,’ Rivers told them.

‘No, we have no need to question you at the present. Mrs Chambers has confirmed that you were in the kitchen between eleven thirty and a quarter to twelve last night. Why did you not remain in the kitchens to see in the New Year, Mr Rivers?’ asked Ravenscroft, looking the gamekeeper full in the face.

‘Thought I told you – I was out looking for poachers.’

‘So you did, Mr Rivers, so you did,’ said Ravenscroft, smiling.

The gamekeeper gave a shrug of his shoulders before striding away in the direction of the woods.

‘You still suspect him, sir?’ enquired Crabb.

‘At the present time I don’t know who is the more likely suspect – Leewood, Catherwood or Rivers. Ah, here we are at The Gables. Let us see whether Mrs Montacute is well enough to see us today.’

Ravenscroft rang the bell and the maid opened the door.

‘Good morning. It is Inspector Ravenscroft and Constable Crabb to see Mrs Montacute, if you please. I believe we may be expected.’

‘If you will just wait here, sir,’ said the maid, showing the two men into the hall.

After a few moments she returned and instructed them to follow her into the drawing-room. ‘Inspector Ravenscroft and Constable Cribb, my lady.’

‘Crabb. Constable Crabb,’ corrected the policeman.

‘Ravenscroft.’ Maurice Montacute was standing by the fire.

‘Good morning, Mr Montacute,’ replied Ravenscroft, shaking hands with the banker.

‘Mrs Montacute has agreed to answer your questions, Ravenscroft.’

‘Good morning, madam. Please accept my sincere condolences for your loss,’ said Ravenscroft, stepping forward and giving a slight bow in the direction of the lady who was sitting on a chair before the fire.

‘You were there at the Lamplighters’ Ball, when my husband …’ said Mrs Montacute, her voice trailing away, the red eyes indicating the symptoms of her grief.

‘I thought it best if I were present, Ravenscroft,’ said Maurice.

‘Of course, sir.’

‘Do take a seat, man. How are your investigations proceeding?’

‘Slowly, but with thoroughness, sir,’ replied Ravenscroft, accepting the chair and trusting that he had given the answer that had been expected of him.

‘I hear that you suspect some man whom my husband sent to prison some years ago?’ enquired the lady, looking directly at Ravenscroft.

‘We have discovered that a certain Joshua Leewood was indeed sentenced to a term of imprisonment by your late husband, and that this man absconded from Hereford gaol shortly before Christmas. Does the name Leewood seem in any way familiar to you, Mrs Montacute?’ asked Ravenscroft.

‘I hardly think that Mrs Montacute would have had any recollection of this Leewood. After all, the incident occurred before Mrs Montacute met my father,’ interjected Maurice.

‘Of course. I just wondered whether your husband ever mentioned his name, in conversation, at some later date?’

‘No, Inspector. The name is unfamiliar to me.’

‘Did your husband ever mention anyone whom he thought might have been his enemy?’

‘No. My husband always kept his business affairs to himself. He very rarely discussed his financial undertakings with me,’ replied the young widow, looking down at her neatly folded hands.

‘So you cannot think of anyone who would have wanted to kill your husband?’ asked Ravenscroft, noticing that tears were beginning to form in the reddened eyes.

‘Look, Ravenscroft, you can see how distressed Mrs Montacute is. Could we not leave this until another day?’ said Maurice anxiously.

‘No, Maurice, it will be quite all right. The inspector must do his duty if my husband’s killer is to be brought to account. Please proceed with your questions, Mr Ravenscroft.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Montacute. Can I take you back to the ball at the Feathers? I know this must be rather difficult for you, and I will try and be as brief as possible. When the lamplighters came into the room, you were standing next to your husband?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can you describe what happened next?’ asked Ravenscroft, leaning forward.

‘Well, my husband raised his glass and toasted the lamplighters, that is all.’

‘Did your husband drink from the glass?’

‘Yes, we all drank from our glasses.’

‘And what happened next?’

‘My husband and I watched the lamplighters go round the room as they extinguished the lights.’

‘I want you to think very carefully now, Mrs Montacute, before you answer my next question. You and your husband were standing at the head of the room, near the entrance, I believe?’

‘That is correct.’

‘Can you remember if you were talking with anyone in particular at the time? Was there anyone close to you when the lights went out?’ asked Ravenscroft, beginning to feel that he was coming nearer to obtaining the vital information he sought.

‘I can’t recall anyone in particular. I remember we had just been talking with Major Onslow, shortly before.’

‘Major Onslow,’ repeated Ravenscroft, looking across at Crabb, who was taking notes in his pocket book. ‘You say you had just been speaking with Major Onslow?’

‘Yes, I believe that was so.’

‘Then what happened, Mrs Montacute?’

‘We all listened for the clock to finish striking, then everyone said Happy New Year to one another as the lights came back on.’

‘When the lights came on, was Major Onslow still with you, or had he moved away? This is very important.’

‘I cannot remember. I am so sorry.’

‘Come now, Ravenscroft, you can see that Mrs Montacute is distressed,’ interrupted Maurice Montacute.

‘When your husband reached out for his glass, can you recall whether it was on the table or whether he took it from perhaps a waiter?’ asked Ravenscroft, ignoring the interjection.

Mrs Montacute thought deeply for a moment. ‘I think my husband’s glass was on the table. Yes, I am sure of it – he picked up the glass from off the table.’

‘The same glass he had been using only a minute or so before?’ asked Ravenscroft, pressing home his point.

‘Yes.’

‘When you stood there in the darkness, listening to the chimes, were you aware of anyone brushing past you, or anyone leaving or entering the room? Think carefully, Mrs Montacute.’

‘No. I don’t think there was …’ replied the widow hesitantly.

‘But you are not sure?’

‘Come now, Ravenscroft—’ protested Maurice.

‘But there was someone?’

‘I don’t know. Yes, I suppose so – in the dark, I thought someone brushed past me, but I could not see who it was,’ replied Edith, a strained expression on her face.

‘Do you think it was a man or a woman?’ enquired Ravenscroft.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know. That’s all I can recall. It just felt as though someone had moved in front of us and had then left the room.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Montacute. I promise that I will not detain you for much longer. I wonder if you could tell me how you and Mr Montacute first met?’

‘It was in Rome, nearly two years ago. Nathaniel, my late husband, had just lost his second wife. He was travelling alone around Europe. On the “Grand Tour”, you might say. I was staying at the same hotel, near the Vatican City.’

‘And you were married shortly afterwards, I hear?’ said Ravenscroft.

‘Dear me, Inspector, you make it all sound so—’

‘Forgive me. I had not intended to suggest that there was anything unusual in your marriage,’ said Ravenscroft, leaning back in his chair and realizing that he had been less tactful than he had intended.

‘I acknowledge that there is – was – quite an age difference between my husband and myself, and I realize that my arrival here must have caused a few people to think that perhaps I had married Nathaniel for his money – but I can assure you, Inspector, that despite our age difference, we married for love and for love alone,’ explained Edith Montacute, becoming increasingly agitated.

‘I really do think you have overstepped the mark this time, Ravenscroft, and must ask you to leave before any more distress is caused to my stepmother,’ said Maurice Montacute, standing up.

‘Of course. Thank you, Mrs Montacute, for answering all my
questions. I am sorry to have questioned you at a time like this, but I am sure you will agree that if we are to discover who killed your husband we must pursue all possible lines of enquiry,’ said Ravenscroft, observing that the young widow had already turned away.

‘Ravenscroft, I’ll see you both out,’ said Maurice.

‘That won’t be necessary, sir. We can find our own way. Thank you once again, Mrs Montacute,’ said Ravenscroft, giving a short bow before walking across to the door. He noticed that Edith Montacute did not look up as he and Crabb left the room.

In the hallway, he paused to look upwards again at the fine portraits which hung on the wall overlooking the sweeping staircase.

‘Rather a miserable, pathetic collection, I think you would agree?’

Ravenscroft turned to see that the speaker was young Rupert Montacute, who had just entered the front of the building.

‘Good day to you, Mr Montacute.’

‘Spoke with you at the ball, didn’t I? Ravenswood, isn’t it?’

‘Ravenscroft,’ corrected the detective. ‘I was just admiring the portraits.’

‘Six generations of upstanding noble Montacutes. Every one of them pillars of society; dull, crusty old sticks. That’s the old man at the bottom, painted some twenty years ago when he was better looking. God, I suppose there will now have to be a new one, now that Maurice has become the head of the clan.’

‘But not one of yourself, sir?’ asked Ravenscroft.

‘God forbid! No room for second, dissolute sons on the grand staircase,’ laughed Rupert.

‘Your brother is the last of the line?’

‘I suppose he is. He’d better get on with it, and marry some dull, boring woman and produce some ghastly urchins, or there won’t be any more Montacutes to carry on after him.’

‘Unless you marry, sir,’ suggested Ravenscroft.

‘God forbid, Ravenswood! No woman of any importance is going to saddle up to me,’ replied Rupert, giving a casual laugh.

‘And what will you do now, sir?’

‘What do you mean, what will I do now?’

‘I mean, sir, what will you do now that your father is dead?’

‘Lord knows. Not given the matter much thought. Carry on as before, I suppose, if my wonderful stepbrother will indulge my profligate ways.’