Kerry Tombs: The Worcester Whisperers

‘Next case!’ ordered the judge.

‘Crown versus Norrice!’ shouted the usher.

As Ravenscroft began to leave the court, he made way for a small boy who was being escorted towards the dock.

‘George Norrice you are charged with having a silver crown in your possession. How do you plead?’ yelled the usher above the ensuing noise.

‘I ain’t guilty, sir. It were the lady who gave it me….’

Ravenscroft closed the door of the court behind him and, avoiding the collection of criminals, barristers and onlookers who thronged the corridors of the Old Bailey, stepped out into the bright sunshine, and sought to distance himself from the events of the morning as quickly as possible, striding forth into the streets of London.

Later that afternoon, Ravenscroft made his way slowly up the old creaking staircase that lead to his superior’s office. A note had arrived at lunchtime stating that he was to present himself there at 3.30 precisely. No doubt the Yard had heard about the events of the morning. He was not looking forward to the next few minutes.

Reaching the landing, he paused to recover his breath and to prepare himself for the ordeal ahead, before knocking purposefully on the door.

‘Enter!’

Ravenscroft made his way into the room.

‘Ah, Ravenscroft, it’s you. Take a seat, man.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ he replied, trying to sound optimistic.

‘Heard about this morning, Ravenscroft; a shambles from start to finish.’

‘We were unfortunate-’ he began, knowing that the commissioner would not be interested in his excuses.

‘It does not look good if the Yard is made to look like fools. I am far from pleased. You should have been sure of your evidence before it went to court, man.’

‘We were up against Mr Sefton Rawlinson, sir.’

‘All the more reason to have ensured that your case was watertight. Not the first time this has happened, Ravenscroft. No, don’t interrupt, when I’m speaking. This is the third time this year when your evidence has been thrown out of court. This incompetence just won’t do. It brings the Yard into disrepute and does not convey the right image that we are seeking to establish.’

‘No, sir,’ said Ravenscroft, looking down at the floor and recalling the other times when he had sat in this same dreary old room being rounded on by his superiors.

‘I’ve also been having a look at your crime figures. They leave a lot to be desired, I can tell you. Since you came back from Malvern last year, your performance seems to have taken quite a tumble, not that your success rate was all that good then, or indeed for the year before. Perhaps this is all becoming too much for you? Quite frankly, I am beginning to wonder if it’s not about time you retired. Have you ever considered retiring, Ravenscroft?’

So that was what all this had been leading up to. The Yard obviously wanted to ease him out, to make way for a younger man.

‘Never considered it, sir,’ he lied, seeking to sound as convincing as possible.

‘Between you and me, Ravenscroft, I can tell you that there are plans, well advanced, to pass an act through Parliament in the next year or so, allowing for those officers who want to take early retirement to do so. On fairly reasonable terms as well, I believe. I think you would be seriously advised to consider taking up such a generous offer when it becomes into operation.’

‘I’ll consider my options, sir, when the time comes. Will that be all, sir?’ he said, beginning to get to his feet and seeking to escape the claustrophobic confines of the room as quickly as possible.

‘Not quite,’ said the commissioner, studying a sheet of paper before him.

Ravenscroft wondered what he was going to be reprimanded for now; what lack of enterprise on his part had they now unearthed to chastise him with.

‘Had a letter from the Dean of Worcester Cathedral; gentleman who goes by the name of Touchmore or Touchstone. Can’t read his signature, but apparently you met him when you went to Malvern last year and cleared up those murders. Speaks very highly of you; can’t imagine why. Apparently someone has run off with one of their priceless books from the cathedral library. Librarian has also gone missing. Asks if we could spare you to go down there and solve the case.’

‘Surely the local police will have carried out investigations?’

‘Seems some work has been done, but they have failed to make any headway. This Touchmore fellow thinks that you are the man for the job.’

‘But, sir, we’ve a lot on at the moment,’ protested Ravenscroft, secretly hoping that his objection would be overruled.

‘Granted. There is this Nichols murder to deal with. Some prostitute in Whitechapel who’s been stabbed to death. Rather nasty by all accounts. I’ve got Inspector Spratling on the case. He seems to be managing well. I think we can spare you. No, you take yourself off to Worcester. You’ll need to tread carefully in regard to the local force, however. Fellow called Henderson is in charge. He’s a prickly customer by all accounts.’

‘If that is what you want, sir.’

‘What I want, Ravenscroft, is for this case to be solved as professionally as possible,’ said the commissioner leaning forward and fixing his eyes on him. ‘The Yard’s reputation is at stake. We can’t afford any more mistakes, like today. Take as long as you like — and don’t let the Yard down this time.’

‘I’ll do my best, sir,’ said Ravenscroft standing to his feet.

‘I sincerely hope so,’ muttered the commissioner looking down at his papers.

Ravenscroft closed the door behind him and made his way down the staircase. As he walked across the courtyard, the idea of leaving London began to grow increasingly more attractive with each step that he took. To be able to put the streets of Whitechapel, the corridors and courts of the Bailey, the rooms of the Yard and the summer heat of London all behind him for a few days, maybe even for a few weeks, seemed freedom and opportunity indeed. There would be old friends to meet, and the chance of good food and fine country air to be experienced and enjoyed. The world had suddenly become a more appealing place.

And, of course, there would perhaps be the opportunity to see Lucy Armitage once more, and to renew his favours in that direction.

WORCESTER

‘My dear Crabb. How delighted I am to see you again!’

Ravenscroft had just alighted from the train at the town’s Foregate Street Station and had been reunited with his former colleague.

‘Pleased to be welcoming you to Worcester, sir,’ said Constable Crabb shaking the hand that had been offered. ‘May I take your bag, sir?’

‘That is most kind of you.’

‘I trust you had a good journey, sir?’

‘As well as could be expected. Now, Crabb, tell me your news. How is that good wife of yours, and that fine godson of mine, young master Samuel?’ asked Ravenscroft, addressing his younger colleague.

‘Both remarkably well, sir, thank you.’

‘Your wife must be feeding you well. I’m sure you have put on some weight since I saw you last.’

‘I believe you are correct in your observation, sir. It is a fortunate man indeed who marries a good cook. This way.’

The two men made their way down the flight of steps and out into the street.

‘This is Foregate Street, sir; the main street of the town. I have taken the liberty of booking you into the Cardinal’s Hat. They say the food and accommodation are very good there. It’s not far, sir, if you would care to follow me.’

Ravenscroft found himself walking along a wide, busy street, full of horse-drawn vehicles, cabs and people going about their everyday business.