Kerry Tombs - The Worcester Whisperers

‘ Merci , Philippe,’ replied the man taking the paper.

The waiter smiled, collected his empty coffee cup and walked back into the interior of the hotel.

The man, after cleaning the lens in his spectacles, opened the newspaper and turned over the pages, casually glancing at the various news stories, not welcoming the intrusion of the real world into his thoughts. After a brief examination of the cricket scores, he opened the newspaper at the centre page, where a particular item caught his attention.

TERRIBLE MURDER IN WHITECHAPEL

Further Horrific Outrage

Reports are being circulated in the London newspapers regarding the discovery of a woman’s body in the Whitechapel district of the city, early on the morning of 9 November last. We have reason to believe that the unfortunate woman was another victim of the infamous killer who has stalked this area of London over the previous three months. What is particularly disturbing upon this occasion, however, is that the victim was savagely killed in her own rooms. We understand that the victim’s name was one Marie Jeanette Kelly who lodged at 13 Miller’s Court off Dorset Street, although it may not be possible to effect a positive identification of the deceased, as the body was brutally mutilated by her attacker in his frenzied assault. The death of this latest woman has caused widespread outrage within the capital, and we have also learnt that Sir Charles Warren, the Metropolitan Police Commissioner has resigned over the failure of the police force to apprehend the murderer of these poor-

‘Anything interesting in the newspaper today?’ asked a voice at the reader’s elbow.

‘It seems that another poor woman has met with an untimely death in London,’ said the man rising from his seat.

‘I am sure that had you been there, you would have apprehended the villain by now,’ smiled the lady.

‘You overestimate my abilities, my dear,’ replied Ravenscroft, discarding the paper on the table. ‘Anyway, I would much prefer to be here in your company, than tracking down some depraved maniac in the grimy streets of Whitechapel. I only wish we did not have to return to England today.’

‘I have been so happy here, Samuel,’ she replied, taking his arm, ‘and would be content to remain here for the rest of our lives, but I’m sure little Richard will be missing us, and-’

‘ Pardon , Monsieur Ravenscroft, Madame Ravenscroft. Your carriage is ready to take you to your boat at St Malo,’ interrupted the waiter.

‘Thank you, Philippe,’ replied Ravenscroft.

‘Your bags have been sent on ahead, monsieur ’

‘Thank you.’

‘I trust madame and monsieur have found everything to their satisfaction at the Hotel Gandolphi, and that we may have the satisfaction of seeing you again some other day?’

‘Indeed,’ said Ravenscroft, tipping the waiter, before taking Lucy’s arm and leading the way towards the front entrance of the hotel, to where a horse-drawn carriage awaited them.

Ravenscroft opened the door of the carriage, as another vehicle suddenly swept into the entrance way. ‘After you, my dear,’ he said, helping his wife up the steps of their carriage, whilst the driver steadied the horse.

The manager of the Gandolphi walked down the entrance steps and opened the door of the other conveyance. ‘Welcome to the Hotel Gandolphi, monsieur, madame .’

Ravenscroft looked across and saw an elderly gentleman with a long white beard alighting from the vehicle. Wearing a black cloak over a shabby black suit, and a large hat, the new arrival stared round at his new surroundings. His companion, a young woman of striking appearance, laughed and smiled as she placed her arm within his and looked up into his face.

For a brief moment, Ravenscroft thought the old man looked across in his direction, before shuffling up the steps of the Gandolphi.

‘Come, Samuel, or our boat will sail without us,’ called Lucy from within the carriage.

‘I’m sorry, my dear. It’s just, I thought I recognized someone, but I must have been mistaken.’

Ravenscroft climbed into the carriage, and their conveyance set off at a brisk pace in the direction of St Malo.

Inside the Gandolphi, the manager was examining the papers of the strange couple who stood before him. ‘These all seem in order. You are Mademoiselle Mary Jane Kelly?’

‘Marie Jeanette,’ corrected the young woman, laughing and squeezing her elder companion’s arm.

‘Pardon, mademoiselle. Marie Jeanette Kelly, of course. Here are your papers as well, monsieur .’

‘Thank you,’ replied the old man.

‘We hope you will enjoy your stay in Dinard, Monsieur Cranston.’

‘I’m sure I will. Thank you. You are most kind. I’m sure I will enjoy my stay here a great deal,’ replied the old man smiling.…