Kerry Tombs - The Worcester Whisperers

‘I have managed to let the Malvern Constabulary release me from duty there, to assist you in your enquiries.’

‘That is good news indeed, Crabb. I don’t know what I would have done without you last year at Malvern.’

‘Talking of Malvern, sir, it seems as though our good friend The Reverend Touchmore of Malvern Priory has been elevated to the Dean and Chapter of Worcester Cathedral.’

‘I know. Apparently it was he who asked for me to come down here.’

‘I see, sir.’

‘And I must say, Crabb, it is a relief to leave all the excitement of London behind me for a few days.’

The two men turned off the main thoroughfare, and soon found themselves in a narrow street, where Ravenscroft’s senses were assailed by the noise and clamour of the shopkeepers shouting out their latest offers to the crowds as they passed by.

‘This area is called the Shambles. Watch where you are treading, sir! Some of the rotten fruit and vegetables find their way into the road, to say nothing of the horse droppings!’

‘I see what you mean, Crabb,’ said Ravenscroft, stepping quickly to one side to avoid being pushed into a pile of squashed apples by a large woman of assertive tendencies. ‘More like London, than Malvern!’ he added.

Reaching the end of the thoroughfare, the two men turned left, and then sharply to their right, and soon found themselves in a quieter area, where the old timber-framed buildings jutted out into the street, and the cobbles were uneven beneath their feet.

‘The Cardinal’s Hat is just down here, sir.’

‘Unusual name for an inn.’

‘I believe its name has something to do with the pilgrims who lodged there whilst visiting the cathedral. Speaking of which, sir, you can just get a view of it over there, above the roof tops on our right.’

‘It looks an imposing building.’

‘I have arranged for us to visit the reverend gentleman there in about half an hour. I knew that you would want to commence investigations right away.’

‘You thought right, Crabb.’

‘Ah, here we are,’ said Crabb, stopping and opening the door of the inn.

An elderly man with a ruddy complexion and stout appearance came forward to greet them as they entered the bar. ‘Good day to you, sir.’

‘Good day to you, landlord. This gentleman is Inspector Ravenscroft from London. He will be staying with you.’

‘I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, sir. From London, you say. We don’t have many folks from London staying ’ere. On police business, sir?’ the landlord enquired.

‘That’s of a confidential nature, my man,’ interjected Crabb. ‘See that the inspector gets your best room.’

‘All the rooms at the Cardinal’s Hat are of the highest quality. Martha, will you take this gentleman up to number five, if you please.’

A young girl emerged from around the corner and picked up Ravenscroft’s bag.

‘I’m sure you will enjoy your stay at- Oh, I should have warned you about that beam! It’s as well to duck when you go through.’

‘Thank you,’ muttered Ravenscroft, rubbing the top of his head where it had just come into contact with the offending woodwork. ‘I’ll try and remember next time. On second thoughts, just place the bag in the room, and we will return later.’

‘As you wish, sir.’

‘Delighted to meet you again, Inspector, and you Constable Crabb. Do please both take a seat.’

The speaker was an elderly clerical gentleman, of rotund appearance and whose round, red face was adorned with a fine set of grey side whiskers. ‘As you can see my circumstances have somewhat changed since our last meeting. I had quite expected to spend the remainder of my days ministering to my flock at the Priory in Great Malvern, but then the good Dean, The Reverend Doctor Sanderson, unexpectedly died — I say unexpectedly, he was ninety-one at the time of his demise — but everyone thought he would go on for ever. Then he caught a rather nasty chill and passed away over a weekend. So sudden. The bishop contacted me and invited me to become the new dean and join the chapter of Worcester Cathedral. At first I declined the offer, believing that my true mission was to be found in Malvern, but the bishop was so persuasive, I eventually came to the conclusion that it was my Christian duty to accept such an undertaking,’ said the cleric, without pausing for breath.

‘You certainly have a very fine house here at the Cathedral Close,’ said Ravenscroft looking around the room, with its Regency furniture, ornate decoration and fine paintings.

‘Indeed so, although of course I am only the custodian. We are all here on this earth, for only for a brief time, and we have a duty, I believe, not only to safeguard that which has been passed down to us but also to leave something of ourselves for posterity. When I first came here-’

Crabb coughed, as Ravenscroft interrupted the dean’s flow of words. ‘Your letter speaks of a missing book?’

‘Ah yes, the Whisperie .’

‘ Whisperie? ’ enquired Crabb.

‘Yes, an unusual title. It was written by a monk, here at Worcester, in the early thirteenth century. I need not say that the book is one of our most priceless relics. Irreplaceable, of course. What makes the work so unusual is its content. You must understand, gentlemen, that up to that time most works were of a religious nature, either drawing upon the script of the Bible, or recounting the activities of the early Christian missionaries to these islands. Then in the year 1216 King John died and his body was conveyed here to Worcester, where he lies to this day in the chancel. Apparently he had quite a liking for the place. John, however, was a very unpopular monarch, by all accounts, and most people were rather pleased when he died. He had heavily taxed many of them for so many years. Not only was the church and the barons taxed, so were the ordinary townspeople, yeoman farmers, merchants and, of course, the Jews. The country was practically ruined by his foreign exploits, and following a revolt by the barons he was forced to sign the Magna Carta, which I am sure you have heard about.’

Ravenscroft nodded and leaned back in his armchair, enjoying the history lesson.

‘There were quite a number of rumours spread about the cause of his death, at the time. The accepted version is that he died from eating too much food, although many believed that he had been poisoned by either one of his own barons or by someone — God forbid — who was high up in the church. All these accounts, or rumours, are included in the Whisperie , which was written by our unidentified monk at the time of John’s funeral. I cannot stress too highly, Inspector, the importance and significance of this work to both the cathedral, and to the nation. It must be recovered at all costs.’

‘You say the book was taken from the library?’ asked Ravenscroft gazing out of the window, across the Close, towards the cathedral.

‘Yes, Worcester Cathedral has one of the finest libraries of medieval books and manuscripts in the country. The collection runs to many thousands, with some of the items dating back to, and before, the cathedral’s foundation. Many of the works give a profound insight into the life of the late medieval Benedictine priory, and are all handwritten and beautifully decorated with colourful initial letters and cartouches. They were nearly all lost in a fire that broke out in the vestry sometime in the last century I believe-’

‘Where are the books kept now, sir?’ asked Crabb looking up from his notebook.

‘In the library, which is situated over the vestry, on the south side of the cathedral,’ replied Touchmore, taking out a large handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing his brow.