Kerry Tombs - The Malvern Murders

The two policemen found themselves standing inside a comfortably furnished living room. A table was situated in the centre of the room, which also contained a desk and an armchair. The walls were lined with rows of books.

‘Right, that must be the bedroom over there. I’ll take this room, you look in there,’ instructed Ravenscroft.

‘What are we looking for sir?’ asked Crabb.

‘I don’t really know Crabb until I find it. Papers, documents, anything I suppose that might tell us more about Doctor Sommersby, and answer the question as to why he was murdered.’

Crabb disappeared into the bedroom as Ravenscroft looked at the many books that lined the dead man’s bookcases. He then crossed over to the table and examined the papers that lay there. Sommersby had evidently been making notes for an impending Latin lesson. On top of the desk lay a pile of unmarked exercise books. Ravenscroft sat down on the chair behind the desk and went through the drawers, taking out the papers and examining them one by one. As he reached the bottom drawer on the left hand side of the desk he found it locked. Taking out his pocket knife, he slipped the blade between the wood and the lock until he was able to open the drawer fully. Inside he found yet more papers, which he placed on the desk and began to go through them.

‘Nothing in the bedroom sir,’ said Crabb returning to the room. ‘Have you found anything of interest there sir?’

‘This document would appear to be a copy of Sommersby’s last will and testament, made five years ago. Nothing particularly startling though. He leaves everything to Malvern College, although there does not appear to be much to leave — a hundred pounds, his watch, some pictures, and the books.’

‘Not much to show for a life of school mastering,’ said Crabb.

‘In my experience Crabb schoolmasters are not particularly well paid, just as policemen are, and he does not seem to have come into any legacies. It does not look as though he was killed for his money then. There was no inheritance to pass on. Ah, this looks interesting. Something to do with Old Lechmere’s almshouses in Colwall,’ said Ravenscroft opening out the document. ‘It names Sommersby as one of the trustees, and was drawn up about twenty years ago, by the look of it, when Sommersby was appointed. It names the other trustees. There is Pitzer’s name and Touchmore, and Gladwyn as well. I don’t know the others. Make a note of their names Crabb. So Sommersby was also a trustee of the almshouses. Something he and Pitzer both had in common. It is interesting how those old almshouses keep arising in our investigations,’ said Ravenscroft replacing the papers in the bottom drawer.

‘I knew that Armitage fellow was hiding something. I didn’t like the look of him at all,’ replied Crabb shaking his head.

‘I certainly think the warden was not exactly forthcoming when we questioned him. I think you and I need to have more words with Mr. Armitage. It is too late this evening, but in the morning another outing to Colwall is called for,’’ said Ravenscroft closing the drawers of the desk. ‘Before we leave, let us look around the rest of this room Crabb. Is there anything you think we have missed? What does this room tell us about its occupant?’ he said rising from his seat.

‘I can’t see anything of note’.

‘Our Mister Sommersby seems to have lived a frugal kind of existence. There is nothing here to suggest a vast expenditure. The contents of this room indicate a comfortable but not an over indulgent life. Our good doctor was not a man to go about wasting his money. What is this?’ said Ravenscroft lifting up a cane from a stand that lay near the doorway.

‘It looks a fine cane to me. Silver handle I’ll be bound,’ said Crabb.

‘You are right Crabb. The handle is well worn, indicating that it was purchased many years ago. What is interesting though, is the monogram. Looks like a large B interlocked with a W and an M.’

‘May have been the initials of someone in his family,’ suggested Crabb.

‘There is no S for Sommersby though. Nor a L that might have stood for Lechmere’s almshouses. B. M and W. No doubt the letters held some significance for Sommersby to have gone to the trouble of having them engraved on the handle of the walking stick.’

‘Perhaps it was given to him by a grateful parent.’

‘You could well be right Crabb,’ said Ravenscroft returning the stick to its stand. ‘Well I think there is nothing else here that can shed any light on why our good doctor was murdered. I don’t think we can do anything else here tonight. We will see what the morrow will bring.’

Ravenscroft woke with a start. He reached out for his pocket watch and spectacles and in the cold darkness of his room made out the hour to be not yet four.

The church clock had struck the hour of twelve when he had returned to the Tudor some hours earlier, but he had been unable to sleep for some time, his mind being occupied by the events of the previous two days. Why had Pitzer and Sommersby been killed? Who had killed the two men? What possible reason could there be for anyone to have acted in such a way? The more he considered the matter, the more the same questions kept repeating themselves. Then he recalled that both men had been trustees of the Colwall Almshouses. Perhaps the answer lay there? He had certainly not thought that Armitage had been exactly forthcoming with his answers and had taken a dislike to the man. Pitzer and Armitage had not worked well together. What had been Armitage’s relationship with Sommersby? Had they also had a falling out? Then there was Gladwyn and Touchmore, two more of the trustees. Did they know more than they were telling him?

Finally he had drifted off into a half sleep, during which he had seen again the old buildings in Colwall, and then the gothic exterior of Malvern College. He saw himself making his way up the windy path to well house, where the dark familiar figure of the veiled lady had appeared to be awaiting his arrival. He had called out to her as he had drawn near, but as he looked upwards, the falling bookcases of the College library tumbled rapidly down towards him. Now he had awoken to find his face covered in moisture and his throat parched.

Reaching for the tumbler at the side of his bed, he poured some of the water into the glass and wiped his brow on his sleeve. After swallowing the liquid, he lay back on his pillow and stared out into the darkness of the room. What on earth had possessed him to come to such a place? Why had he so readily agreed to take on the task of solving one murder, only to be faced now with trying to solve two? How had his holiday turned into this thankless task? Ravenscroft let out a deep sigh, turned over and buried his face in the pillow.

‘Good morning Mr. Ravenscroft; it’s time for yer treatment sir.’

Ravenscroft emerged from beneath the bed spread and gave Stebbins a bleary stare.

‘Late night was it sir?’

‘Mind your own business Stebbins.’

‘There is a nice leg of chicken in the pantry sir, I could get it for you.’

‘That won’t be necessary at the moment, but I might consider it for later,’ said Ravenscroft reaching for his dressing gown.

‘Been dining out have we?’ asked Stebbins grinning. ‘Doctor Mountcourt says he’ll see you at ten this morning.’

Ravenscroft made the well-worn journey to the Bath House.

‘Good morning to you Mr. Ravenscroft. Time for your new treatment today,’ said the attendant, a note of new optimism creeping into his voice. Ravenscroft’s heart sank. What new torture were they about to inflict on him now, he wondered? But then he considered that nothing could possibly be worse than that which he had suffered already.

‘If you would care to stand under this pipe sir,’ said the attendant indicating a cubicle situated in the corner of the room. Ravenscroft feared the worst, as he began to remove his sleeping attire.