The Ledbury Lamplighters (9 page)

‘Snowing again, sir,’ said Crabb, looking out of the window. ‘Good job we have our coats to keep us warm on a day like this.’

‘What was that you said?’ said Ravenscroft suddenly. ‘Yes. The coat! Of course. Look at this coat. What does it tell you, Crabb?’

‘Well, it’s an expensive coat, and well made. I wish I had an overcoat as good as this,’ replied Crabb, picking up the garment and examining it closely.

‘Precisely. If this man was a servant, possibly a coachman, the coat may have been bought for him. His employer bought the coachman not just any coat to keep his servant warm, but a special coat that would add to his own importance. In other words, he wanted to show London society that his coachman was well turned out.’

‘I’m with you, sir. Forrating, we call it, in Worcestershire.’

‘Let us see who made the coat. The label is quite worn but I think I can just make it out,’ said Ravenscroft, taking the coat nearer the window. ‘Yes, here we are. Gambit and Ashbury.’

‘Who are they, sir?’ asked a puzzled Crabb.

‘Gambit and Ashbury are one of the finest tailors in London. I believe their premises are located somewhere in the vicinity of St James’s. Only the very rich can afford to be fitted out by them.’

‘I knew that coat was worth a lot of money when I first saw it.’

‘I have a feeling that if we can find out the identity of the deceased, and why he came to Ledbury, we may then be able to discover whether there is any connection between the death of this man and the murder of Nathaniel Montacute.’

‘However are we going to do that, sir?’

Ravenscroft remained deep in thought for a few seconds before finally speaking. ‘Get your notebook out, Crabb, and make a note of the size, then cut a small portion off the bottom of the coat.’

‘Whatever for, sir?’

‘Tomorrow I intend returning to London to pay a visit on Messrs Gambit and Ashbury!’

Late in the afternoon, on the second day of the New Year, a tall, well dressed gentleman alighted from a cab in a quiet suburb of London. To the casual observer it might be supposed that the man in question had been in the army in his younger days, for such was his bearing: precise moustache, neatly combed-back black hair and upright stature. Others would have agreed that he was indeed a gentleman of some wealth and standing, for his overcoat, gloves and cane were all evidence to that fact.

The man reached into his coat pocket and gave the driver of the cab a silver shilling, with instructions that he was to keep the change.

‘Thank you, governor,’ replied the cabman, touching the side of his cap before urging the horse forward.

The gentleman watched as the vehicle turned the corner and disappeared from view, then withdrew into the shadow of one of the tall buildings so that he could ascertain whether his arrival had been noticed.

‘Only two pence tonight, darling. Special rate for the New Year!’

The voice made him turn suddenly. The speaker was a middleaged woman, scantily clad despite the cold weather, who seemed intent in flaunting herself before him.

The man raised his walking cane and threatened to bring it down upon the woman’s head. ‘’Ere, no offence,’ she said, backing
away quickly. ‘There’s no need for that. We’ve all got to make a living, ain’t we?’

‘Here’s your money. Now go away!’ he replied, flinging a coin down on to the pavement before quickly moving on. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself.

‘Bless you, sir, may God look after you.’

He turned the corner and found himself in a square of fashionable Georgian houses, then made his way past the dimly lit gas lamps until he reached an insignificant-looking brick-built building at the end of the street, which bore the words West Kensington Freemasons Society on a brass plaque.

He stood still, listening and watching for any sign which would suggest that he might have been followed, then after a few seconds rang the bell at the front entrance to the building.

The heavy oak door was opened by a grey-haired servant in livery uniform. ‘Good evening, sir. How can I help you?’

‘My name is Major Monk,’ he replied.

‘Of course, sir. You are expected. Please step inside. If you would care to take a seat in the hall, I will inform the gentlemen of your arrival.’

‘I would prefer to stand,’ he replied, gazing at the old portraits that hung down one side of the hallway.

The servant disappeared from view, leaving him alone with only the sound of a ticking clock for company. As the minutes passed and the servant did not return, he grew uneasy, took out his pocket watch and examined its hands, and paced up and down the uneven floor. He had not wanted this. He was not used to being at such a disadvantage. Then he reminded himself that carrying out someone else’s wishes always contained an element of undue risk. That was the price he had to pay for being at another’s service.

The door opened and the servant finally returned. ‘We are so sorry to have kept you waiting, sir. If you would care to follow me, the gentlemen are ready to see you now.’

Monk followed the servant down the drab-looking corridor, some part of his mind telling him that he should withdraw now before he became further involved, but he also knew that some new challenge would be awaiting him and that some financial gain would be his. He had carried out his mission as he had been instructed. They would not be able to fault him on its execution.
Evidently they would not have called him back if there was not further work to be undertaken.

‘Major Monk, gentlemen,’ said the servant, opening the door at the bottom end of the passageway. He entered the room, and sought to adjust his eyes to the dim light which struggled to escape from the partially lit oil lamp in the centre of a large table.

‘Ah, Major Monk, we are so sorry to have kept you waiting. Do please take a seat,’ instructed an elderly, quiet voice.

Monk said nothing and accepted the empty chair that had been left for him at the bottom of the table, placed his gloves and cane before him, and strained to see the half dozen or so faces that were seated before him in the half light of the room.

‘For the sake of my fellow Brothers, I would be obliged if you would inform us of your progress concerning the man Robertson,’ asked the elderly gentleman who had spoken previously.

Monk cleared his throat. He hated giving any account of himself and his movements to anyone else, but he realized the importance of the occasion. The fact that he could not clearly see the faces of the figures at the other end of the table, however, disturbed him. He had been used to carrying out work for singular individuals and upon his own territory. He distrusted organizations, and despised the affluence and power of the gentlemen who now wanted him to do their bidding. ‘After being informed about the man Robertson, I kept watch on the said person at his lodgings and at his place of work for two days without discovering anything of an untoward nature. Early on the morning of 24 December I found that the gentleman had not returned to his rooms the previous evening, and upon further enquiry I learnt that he had purchased a return railway ticket to the market town of Ledbury.’

‘Where is Ledbury?’ interrupted one of the faces.

‘I believe it lies in the county of Herefordshire,’ replied the main speaker. ‘Please proceed if you would, Major.’

‘I journeyed to Ledbury, where I discovered that Robertson had arrived three hours previously. Nevertheless I was able to prevent his return to the railway station later that evening – and was able to carry out your instructions. I can report that he will not be returning to the capital, as you so wished,’ reported Monk in his usual, unemotional manner.

‘Excellent,’ said another voice from the far end of the table.

‘You were careful to remove all traces from his person, as to his identity?’ enquired a fourth speaker. ‘It is important that the trail should not lead back to us in any way.’

‘I can assure you, gentlemen, that should the body be found, there would be no way in which an identification could be made,’ replied Monk, brushing his moustache with the side of one of his fingers.

The main speaker whispered a few words with one or two of his companions. Monk looked down at the floor uneasily. He had fulfilled his task. They would not be able to complain that he had not been efficient in his work.

‘You have done well, Monk. You will find an envelope before you on the table. That is the remainder of your fee,’ said the first voice.

Monk reached out for the envelope.

‘However, we have further need of your services. It has now come to our attention that Robertson was in the possession of certain documents. A search has been made of both his place of work and his lodgings, but the papers have not been found. We can only conclude therefore that Robertson took the papers with him to Ledbury,’ continued the first voice.

‘I can assure you that I made a thorough search of his person. They were not upon him.’

‘You state that Robertson arrived in Ledbury three hours before yourself?’

‘I believe that to be the case.’

‘Then clearly it can be assumed that he has left these papers, documents, with someone in the town, you would agree?’ interjected a new voice.

‘That must have been so.’

‘It is important, Monk, that these papers are recovered as soon as possible. They are of the utmost importance and must be returned to us,’ said another, more solemn voice from the end of the table. ‘We want you to return to Ledbury tomorrow and locate the documents. You will be paid well. Three times your previous fee, payable when we receive the papers.’

‘May I enquire as to the nature of these papers?’ enquired Monk.

A long silence followed, until eventually the last speaker resumed. ‘The papers are of a highly sensitive nature. They must not fall into another’s hands. The very safety of the realm depends
on their return. That is all you need to know. Suffice it to say that should these papers ever be made public, the lives and careers of certain prominent political and royalist persons could be put at risk. I trust we have made ourselves clear?’

‘I see,’ replied Monk, casually brushing a hair off the knee of his finely pressed trousers.

‘You will undertake this assignment not just for the good of the Brotherhood, but for the security of your country as well,’ continued the speaker.

‘I will be pleased to carry out your request, gentlemen.’

‘Excellent. I knew that we could depend on you, Monk.’

‘We must remind you, Major, that nothing must be disclosed, to anyone, either about your mission, or about this meeting here tonight – which of course did not take place,’ said the main speaker in a firm manner, leaning forwards across the table so that Monk could see the reflection of the flickering flame in the lenses of his glasses.

‘You have my assurance, gentlemen.’

‘Then there is nothing more to be said. At all costs recover those papers. We wish you well, Major,’ said the main speaker, sitting back in his chair and indicating that the meeting was at an end.

Monk rose from his chair, picked up his gloves and cane and made his way out of the room. The manservant conducted him to the main entrance of the building.

‘A cold night, sir,’ remarked the servant as he opened the outer door.

Monk said nothing as he stepped outside, and retraced his steps quickly back along the tree-lined square.

Back in the room he had just left, the senior figure was addressing the rest of the group. ‘I do not feel that we can entirely trust Major Monk. He knows far too much about our affairs.’

‘What do you suggest?’ asked one of the speakers.

‘Should he recover the documents, we would have little further need of his services. It would then be of the utmost importance that he should never be traced back to us. We should ensure that this last remaining loophole be closed.’

‘I agree, Brother,’ concurred the speaker.

‘Our Major Monk might be tempted to take the papers elsewhere. I saw the greed in his eyes. We cannot afford to let that
happen. Fortunately, Brother 127 resides in Ledbury. I will contact him by letter tonight, with instructions that he is to keep us fully informed as to the major’s progress.’

The early morning sun shone brightly on the snow-covered road as Ravenscroft and his wife walked arm in arm up the Homend towards the railway station.

‘Now, you are sure you have everything, Samuel?’

‘You have asked me that same question twice already, my dear,’ replied Ravenscroft.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Lucy, somewhat crestfallen.

‘No, it is I that should apologize. I am not used to having such an attractive wife who takes such great pleasure in organizing me. I am a fortunate man indeed,’ replied Ravenscroft, squeezing his wife’s hand.

‘How long do you think you will be away for?’

‘At this stage I cannot tell. Hopefully, Gambit and Ashbury may be able to provide me with some information regarding the unfortunate owner of the coat. Once I have learnt his identity, I can then find out as much as I can about him. Then we might be able to discover eventually why he came to Ledbury, and who killed him.’

‘The poor, unfortunate man. Fancy coming all this way to Ledbury just to die like that, and at Christmas as well.’

‘That is the biggest mystery of all.’

‘What happens if your Gambit and Ashbury have no knowledge
of the owner of the coat?’

‘Then all I can do is see if the Yard has any information on the man and ensure that his description is circulated to all the stations in London. I am sure that someone somewhere must know who he is. Either way, I hope to be back by tomorrow.’

‘Do you think that this man’s murder has anything to do with poor Mr Montacute’s death?’ asked Lucy as they approached the station.

‘In all honesty, I just don’t know at this time. I have instructed Tom Crabb to continue with the investigation whilst I am away. He will interview some more of the guests at the ball to see if anyone can remember seeing anything.’

‘Good morning to you, sir,’ said the ticket collector at the station.

‘Good morning to you as well. I would like a ticket to London, please.’

‘First or second class, sir?’

‘Oh, I don’t think the police authorities would allow me the indulgence of first-class rail travel,’ said Ravenscroft, smiling.

After purchasing his ticket, Ravenscroft and his wife walked on to the platform. ‘It seems very quiet today,’ said Lucy, looking round at the near-empty platform, where only two gentlemen could be seen conversing with one another.

‘I suppose not that many people want to travel at this time of year.’

‘Spare us a halfpenny, governor!’

Ravenscroft turned. He had not noticed the old, bearded beggar sitting on one of the seats near the entrance. He reached into his pocket, took out a coin and gave it to the man, before moving his wife away down the platform.

‘Samuel, you should not encourage these people,’ whispered Lucy.

‘The man looked in need of a good wash and some food. It was the least I could do, considering this cold weather,’ replied Ravenscroft. He looked across once more to where the beggar had been sitting, but found that the occupant of the seat had quickly departed.

‘You have a soft heart, Samuel Ravenscroft, and I love you for it,’ said Lucy, laughing.

‘Strange, but I thought I had seen that fellow before.’

‘Probably loitering around the streets of Ledbury?’

‘I expect you are correct, my dear. No matter. Now please take care of yourself and little Richard whilst I am away,’ said Ravenscroft, stepping back from the edge of the platform as the noise of the approaching train could be heard. ‘Do you know, I have only been away from London for a few weeks, and yet it seems that I have always lived here in Ledbury.’

‘That is because you are content – and happy,’ said Lucy, smiling.

‘And may it long be so.’

The train drew into the station, and Ravenscroft opened the door of one of the carriages.

‘Take care, Samuel. I could not bear it if you never returned,’ said Lucy, gripping her husband’s arm and quickly planting a kiss on his cheek.

‘Do not worry, Lucy. I have every intention of returning to Ledbury, I can assure you.’

Lucy waved as the train slowly pulled away from the station, and it was not until it finally disappeared from view that she moved away from the edge of the platform and made her way out of the building.

No passengers from Hereford had alighted from the train, and she began to make her solitary way back towards the town. Only the old ragged beggar seemed to have noticed the passage of her journey.…

Later that day, Ravenscroft found himself standing outside the opulent premises of Gambit and Ashbury, situated in the area of London known as St James’s. He glanced at the expensive coats and suits displayed in the windows with some degree of envy, acknowledging that he would never be able to afford any of the items on offer with his insignificant salary.

‘Good morning to you, sir,’ said the doorman, ushering him into the shop. Ravenscroft found himself in a large room lined with rows of glass-fronted cabinets. Two or three assistants were occupied serving customers; at the far end of the room another client stood with outstretched arms, having his measurements taken.

‘Good morning, sir,’ said a middle-aged assistant, coming
forward to meet him. ‘How may I be of assistance to you?’

Ravenscroft observed that the man was running his eyes over his drab coat with a slight look of disapproval, and felt uneasy in such austere surroundings. ‘I would like some information.’

‘Of course, sir – a new overcoat, perhaps?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Ah, a new suit might be more to your liking. Or perhaps sir is about to undertake a journey to the country?’

‘No, I have come up from the country today.’

‘Evening wear – yes, of course.’

‘No. I require some information regarding one of your clients.’

‘I’m afraid we cannot disclose any information regarding our clientele. Our customers come to us in the full knowledge that they are being dealt with in the strictest confidence,’ said the assistant, adopting a more defensive tone and giving Ravenscroft a cautious look out of the corner of his eye.

‘My name is Ravenscroft, Inspector Ravenscroft. I am making enquiries concerning the death of one of your clients.’

‘I think it would be expedient if we were to step into the back room, sir,’ replied the assistant in a low tone of voice.

‘I understand.’

Ravenscroft followed the assistant through the door at the rear of the shop and soon found himself in a large office.

‘As I said, Inspector, all our clients come to us in the strictest confidence.’

‘I appreciate that, sir, but unfortunately the client I am particularly interested in met with an untimely end in the town of Ledbury, and therefore the issue of confidentiality no longer applies in this case. There was nothing on his person to enable us to identify him. He was, however, wearing a long overcoat with your name inside.’

‘We sell many overcoats. All of them are, of course, hand made individually to fit the requirements of our customers,’ said the assistant, forcing a brief smile and clearly feeling uncomfortable.

‘The deceased was wearing an overcoat of this design,’ said Ravenscroft, reaching into his pocket and laying the piece of material on the desk.

‘Ah yes, that would be from our Moncrief range, individually crafted by our tailors, on the premises, for the discerning
gentleman. It is one of our most expensive cloths,’ replied the assistant, picking up the material and running it through his fingers.

‘Have you sold one recently? Say in the last year or so? The coat was practically new,’ said Ravenscroft.

‘A number, I would expect.’

‘How many is a number, sir?’

‘We usually sell six or seven a year.’

‘This gentleman in question was tall and thin, probably just over six feet in height, and size 36. Do you keep records?’

‘Certainly,’ said the assistant, replacing the cloth on the desk and consulting a large open ledger. ‘I will need to go through our records.’

Ravenscroft watched as the assistant turned back the pages, running his fingers down the neat copperplate writing. ‘Ah, here we are, Inspector. This would seem to fulfil your requirements – Moncrief overcoat, size 36, height of client six feet one inch. Sold just over one year ago.’

‘And the name of the client?’

‘I don’t really—’

‘I must remind you, sir, that this is a murder enquiry. The name, if you please.’

‘Robertson,’ replied the assistant somewhat reluctantly after a few moments silence.

‘Can you remember anything at all about the gentleman? Was he one of your regular clients?’

The assistant thought deeply for a moment or two. ‘No, he was not one of our regular customers. In fact, he was not a gentleman at all. He was a coachman, if I remember correctly,’ he continued, a note of disapproval in his voice.

‘I knew it!’ exclaimed Ravenscroft. ‘Tell me, Mr—’

‘Webster.’

‘Mr Webster. How much would the coat have cost? It would surely have been out of range for a humble coachman to have afforded?’

‘You are correct in that assumption, Inspector.’

‘Perhaps his employer purchased the coat for his coachman?’ suggested Ravenscroft.

‘That was indeed the case in this instance.’

‘It would be helpful, sir, to our inquiries, if you could provide me with the name and address of Mr Robertson’s employer.’

‘I’m afraid I am not at liberty to disclose such information,’ replied Webster, adopting his former defensive posture.

‘And I have to remind you, sir, that this is a murder enquiry,’ said Ravenscroft, trying to sound as assertive as he could.

‘That may be true, Inspector, but if it was learnt that I had violated the confidentiality of a client’s trust, our business would suffer the gravest consequences.’

‘If I have to return later this afternoon with a warrant and twenty policemen to search these premises, I think we would agree that your clients would withdraw their patronage once they had received news of our visit,’ said Ravenscroft firmly, becoming increasingly impatient at the salesman’s intransigence.

The two men looked at one another. Finally the assistant turned away. ‘I cannot provide you with the information you require, Inspector. If it was discovered that I had divulged the name of Robertson’s employer to you, then the integrity of the business and my position would be severely called into question. However, if I was to be called away into the shop urgently to deal with a customer, I could not be held responsible for any action an individual might carry out in my absence,’ remarked Webster, tapping the ledger with his forefinger.

Ravenscroft smiled and took out his notebook as the assistant walked back into the shop.

Ravenscroft walked up the two steps and rang the bell of the elegant townhouse. ‘I would like to speak with Sir James Stanhope,’ he said, addressing the maid who opened the door.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but Sir James is not at home at present. Who shall I say has called?’

‘Who is that, Simpson?’ called a man’s voice from inside the house.

‘A gentleman to see Sir James, Mr Saunders,’ replied the maid, moving to one side of the entrance doorway.

‘Good day to you, sir, I had hoped for a few words with your master,’ said Ravenscroft, addressing the butler.

‘Sir James is visiting his club at present,’ replied Saunders in a superior tone, casting a wayward glance in Ravenscroft’s direction
and indicating that the maid should close the door.

‘Then perhaps I might have a word with you, Mr Saunders,’ said Ravenscroft quickly, anxious that he should not be excluded now that he had come so far. ‘It is concerning Robertson, your coachman.’

‘You have news of Robertson?’ asked the butler anxiously, returning to face him.

‘My name is Ravenscroft, Inspector Ravenscroft. Perhaps you will allow me to enter? I have some very important news regarding your coachman.’

‘Yes, yes, of course – if you would care to follow me, Inspector.’

Ravenscroft followed the butler into the hallway, down a flight of stairs and into a small room situated at the rear of the kitchens.

‘Please take a seat, Inspector,’ said Saunders, indicating a chair. ‘You say you have news of Robertson?’

‘Yes, Mr Saunders. But tell me first, when was the last time you saw Robertson?’

‘The day before Christmas – he was given two days leave for the Christmas season by Sir James.’

‘Did Mr Robertson say where he was going?’

‘I don’t think so. We all assumed that he was visiting relatives or friends for Christmas.’

‘Would it surprise you to learn, Mr Saunders, that he travelled to Ledbury?’

‘Ledbury? I am sorry, where is Ledbury?’ asked the butler, a puzzled expression on his face.

‘In Herefordshire,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘Did he say when he would be returning?’

‘On the twenty-sixth, I believe.’

‘I’m afraid I have some very bad news for you. Mr Robertson was unfortunately killed in Ledbury.’

‘Oh, dear me! What a terrible thing to happen! That would explain why he did not return. Sir James – indeed the whole staff – have been most concerned over his absence. You say he was killed? Was it a coach or a railway accident?’

‘Mr Robertson was in fact murdered. Someone struck him on the head with a heavy object, probably a stone,’ replied Ravenscroft, looking down at the floor.

‘How dreadful!’ replied the butler, visibly shaken.

‘So you can see, Mr Saunders, why it is important that we learn as much as we can about Mr Robertson,’ said Ravenscroft, trying to sound as sympathetic as he could.

‘Yes. I see. What would you like to know?’

‘How long had Robertson been in your master’s employ?’

‘Four years. Yes, just over four years.’

‘And he was Sir James’s coachman, I believe?’

‘Yes.’

‘Tell me, what was the nature of his duties?’

‘He conveyed Sir James round town in his carriage.’

‘Did Sir James purchase an expensive new coat for his coachman, about a year ago?’

‘Yes. Sir James always likes to see his servants have the best attire. But how do you know about the coat?’ asked a baffled Saunders.