Kerry Tombs - The Malvern Murders

He observed that the room was simply furnished — a bed, table, chair, wardrobe, washstand and basin.

Stebbins coughed and shuffled his feet.

‘Oh yes, of course,’ he replied taking a coin from his pocket and giving it to the young boy.

‘Thanking yer most kindly sir. I hopes you will enjoy your stay ere, though not many do. If there’s anythin I can do for yer, like calling a cab, telling yer where the best places are, then Stebbins is your man.’

Ravenscroft smiled. ‘Thank you Stebbins. I will try and remember.’

The boy touched his head and left the room.

Ravenscroft walked over to the window and looked out at the fine view which stretched outwards from the lower slopes of the town, and out across the ever diminishing fields, until it reached another large hill in the far distance.

He turned as the door suddenly opened and Stebbins reappeared once more.

‘Just thought I’d let yer know. Doctor Mountcourt, he aint believin in giving his guests much food. All part of the treatment. So if you gets hungry, at any time, you just have a quiet word with Stebbins ere. I’ll see you right. I won’t tell, if you don’t.’

‘Thank you Stebbins. I will remember that.’

The boy grinned and closed the door once more.

Ravenscroft thought that life at Malvern and the Tudor might just prove interesting after all.

‘Cough!’

Ravenscroft obliged.

‘That is not good my dear sir.’ The speaker was a middle aged man of slender build and serious formal manner.

‘I’ve had the complaint since I was young.’

‘I can see that my dear sir. Not helped by living in London. You should have come to us sooner.’

‘Then am I too late?’

‘It’s never too late, Mr. Ravenscroft, but there is a lot to do. Plenty of brisk walks, a change of diet, remedial baths should all help. You could also do with losing a few pounds in weight as well. It appears that you have been most negligent in safeguarding your health my dear sir. We must act quickly to halt the decline. I’ll have my assistant draw up a programme of treatment for you and have it delivered to your room this evening. We will commence the cure tomorrow.’

‘Thank you,’ replied Ravenscroft feeling apprehensive.

‘I must emphasize however, that the plan must be strictly adhered to. There must be no deviation from the course on your part either during the treatment, or after your return to the capital, otherwise all the good work that we do here at the Tudor will be undone. I think I make myself clear on that point?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Ravenscroft looked away. He felt as though he was back at school.

‘Have you always had poor eyesight?’

‘Since I was young.’

‘I detect a slight movement in your left hand. Does it concern you?’

‘Only when I feel nervous.’

‘You can get yourself dressed now. I will see you in three days’ time when I will expect to observe a marked improvement in your condition.’

‘Thank you,’ replied Ravenscroft somewhat meekly.

‘Good day to you sir,’ — and with those words, Doctor Mountcourt, chief physician and proprietor of the Tudor Hydropathic Establishment swept quickly outwards from the room.

The following morning Ravenscroft was awakened by a loud banging on the door of his bedroom. He reached for his pocket watch which lay on the table at the side of his bed, and could just make out the time to be seven o’clock in the gloom of the room.

Before he had time to consider turning over in his bed, the knocking was repeated and the door flung open.

‘Good morning Mr. Ravenscroft. It is time to commence yer treatment sir.’

‘Go away Stebbins. It’s only seven in the morning.’

‘We believes in an early start at the Tudor sir.’ Stebbins was already drawing back the curtains, letting in the half light of the early morning. ‘If yer would care to follow me sir, when you is ready.’

Ravenscroft realising that it would be futile to argue, climbed out of bed, put on his slippers, and his dressing gown over his night shirt, and followed the youth along the many dim corridors of the Tudor.

Three floors below they arrived at a door which bore the words ‘Bath House’ on its exterior. Stebbins indicated that Ravenscroft was to enter.

‘A very good morning to you sir.’ The speaker was a stocky, middle aged man of military bearing. ‘Now sir, you will oblige us by stepping into this bath.’

Ravenscroft peered down into the bath and hesitated. The water looked decidedly cold.

‘You will soon get used to it sir. No one likes it at first. Gently does it.’

Ravenscroft removed his dressing gown and night shirt, and stepped into the icy water.

‘Now sir, if you would care to sit in the bath.’

A shivering Ravenscroft had no desire whatsoever to comply with this request.

‘Best get it over with sir. You’ll feel a lot better afterwards,’ said the attendant attempting to reassure his patient.

Ravenscroft doubted whether that would indeed be the case, but gently lowered his body into the tub.

‘Good sir. As I said you’ll soon get used to it. Now I’ll just add a little more water,’ said the attendant pouring more of the icy liquid from a metal jug into the bath.

‘My God man!’ exclaimed Ravenscroft, ‘Does it really have to be so damn cold?’

‘Doctor Mountcourt’s instructions sir,’ replied the man in a firm tone of voice.

During the following ten minutes, Ravenscroft lay in the cold waters, thinking that he had never experienced such unpleasantness in all his life, and wishing that he had ignored his superior’s advice and taken in the pleasures of Brighton instead.

‘Now sir, if you could ease yourself out of the bath, we’ll rub you down and take you back to your room.’

Ravenscroft relieved to step out of the bath, reached for the outstretched towel.

Five minutes later he found himself back in his room, but the treatment had apparently not yet been completed.

‘If you would care to stand by your bed sir,’ instructed the attendant.

Ravenscroft began to wonder what new torture was about to be inflicted upon him. Stebbins and the attendant produced a number of damp sheets which they proceeded to wind tightly round his body, before tipping him backwards onto his bed. He felt like one of the Egyptian mummies he had seen recently at the Kensington Museum.

‘If you would now remain there sir, until we return.’

He had little choice but to agree. His two tormentors left, leaving him with little to do but look up at the ceiling of his room.

Gradually he began to feel his body recovering its warmth, and his limbs relaxing within the tightly bound sheets. He wondered what had been the point of his ghastly experience and whether he would have to go through with this ordeal every day during his stay. He could feel beads of perspiration forming on his forehead, and felt a desperate urge to scratch the back of his left shoulder. Letting out a deep sigh, he closed his eyes, and prayed that his jailers would soon return to bring an end to his ordeal. He closed his eyes. The events of three days previous now floated before him, but appeared like a distant world.

After what had seemed like an eternity, Stebbins and the attendant returned and unwound the sheets. He gave out a sigh of relief and suddenly realised that he had acquired quite an appetite.

‘Now then sir, once you are dressed you are to make your way up to the well house at St.Anns to partake of the waters,’ said the attendant.

‘I was rather hoping that I might be allowed to have my breakfast first.’

‘Not until you return sir. Doctor Mountcourt’s orders’