The Ledbury Lamplighters (6 page)

The old woman laughed. ‘You of all people should know that!'

‘Hereford gaol?'

Leewood's mother said nothing as she turned her face away towards the empty hearth. Ravenscroft looked down once more at the cat, who hissed loudly at him. ‘I understand that your son protested his innocence when he was sent down?' he said, finally breaking the silence.

‘What do you want to know for? You going to help him then?' sneered the woman.

‘No. I cannot change what has happened in the past.'

‘Thought as much,' muttered the old woman, before resuming her coughing.

‘You have heard that Mr Nathaniel Montacute is dead? He was the magistrate who sentenced your son.'

‘I know who he was.' Ravenscroft thought he could detect a mixture of resignation and bitterness in her voice.

An old clock on the mantelpiece chimed twelve, and he counted the strikes to himself. Neither he nor the old woman spoke.

The cat hissed loudly again at Ravenscroft, before crossing over to the door.

‘Did your son ever say anything about Mr Montacute?'

‘How do I know!'

The cat began to scratch the door in an angry fashion.

‘Cat!' shouted the old woman.

Ravenscroft opened the door, and the animal gave him a venomous look before it quit the room. ‘Do you visit your son in prison?' he said, returning to the table.

‘How can I afford the fare to Hereford?' laughed the old woman.

‘Does your son write to you?' asked Ravenscroft, knowing that his line of questioning was going nowhere.

‘Can't read nor write, nor can Joshua,' coughed the woman.

‘Should your son return in the near future—' began Ravenscroft.

‘My son is still in gaol, where he has no cause to be!' shouted out the old woman, before being convulsed by a fit of coughing.

‘Can I get you anything?' he offered, knowing that he could do little to relieve her suffering.

The woman made an angry gesture with her arm, indicating that Ravenscroft should leave.

‘Perhaps I could ask Doctor Andrews to call upon you?'

‘How do you expect me to be able to pay for some old quack?' growled the old woman.

‘I'll pay for Doctor Andrews to call on you, and to give you something for that cough.'

‘Nothing can cure me once the fluck has taken hold. Save your money – and get out!'

‘I'm sorry,' said Ravenscroft, feeling helpless as he moved back towards the door.

‘Get out!'

Ravenscroft realized that it was futile to remain any longer. Opening the door, he stepped out into the courtyard before making his way past the two dirty, shoeless children who had returned to witness his departure.

‘Found her then, mister?' asked the eldest of the two boys, looking up at him.

Ravenscroft said nothing but made his way quickly down the alleyway, to where he hoped a brighter, more genteel, welcoming world would be waiting to greet him.

A sudden blast of cold air blew into his face, however, as he turned back into the Homend, reminding him that it was the first day of January and that he could expect little better at this time of the year. He turned up the collar of his coat and made his way through the swirling snowstorm.

As he came down towards the market hall he could hear the sound of dogs yelping and people shouting. Drawing nearer to the Feathers, he saw a group of a dozen or so men on horses, surrounded by a pack of hunting dogs.

‘Ah, Ravenscroft, come to see the hunt off, have you?' said the voice of Major Onslow, who was seated on a large white horse.

‘Not exactly, Major.'

‘Damn snow! Can't see more than five feet in front of me,' snapped Onslow, reaching down to grasp a small glass of liquid from a silver tray, which a shivering waiter from the Feathers was holding out towards him.

‘Not a good day for the hunt,' shouted Ravenscroft through the driving snow.

‘Eh? What's that you say? Speak up, man,' demanded the master of the hunt before swallowing the contents of his glass in one gulp.

‘I said, it's not a good day for hunting!'

‘Soon clear. Should get two or three of the blighters before dark. Caught who killed poor old Montacute yet?' asked Onslow, taking another glass from the outstretched tray.

‘Our investigations are still at an early stage.'

‘Suppose so. Bloody awful thing to happen! Who the devil would want to kill old Montacute?'

‘Who indeed, Major?'

‘Snow seems to be dying down a bit. Best be on our way, we can't keep the foxes waiting. Good day to you, Ravenscroft,' shouted
Onslow, banging his empty glass down on the tray and signalling to one of the huntsmen to sound the horn.

Ravenscroft stepped back towards the wall of the Feathers as the riders in their bright red coats, black breeches and hunting caps rode away from the old coaching inn, a pack of black and white dogs barking behind them and a collection of some thirty or forty retainers and townsmen bringing up the rear of the procession.

‘Rather them than me on a day like this,' said Crabb, walking over the road and joining his superior officer.

‘Rather them than me on any day of the year, Crabb. Hunting is a pastime which has never held any appeal for me. You look cold. Let's go inside,' said Ravenscroft, opening the door to the inn.

The two men made their way to the snug, where a welcoming fire spluttered loudly in the hearth.

‘Just the thing,' said Ravenscroft, removing his overcoat and rubbing his hands in front of the flames.

‘Good day to you, gentlemen. Can I get you something to eat and drink? We've some nice venison pie left over from the festivities,' said a cheery-faced barman.

‘Excellent – and two tankards as well, if you please,' instructed Ravenscroft.

‘I sent off the telegram, sir, with instructions that they are to reply as soon as possible,' said Crabb, seating himself on one of the stools.

‘Good man. It will be interesting to see what the prison authorities can tell us about Leewood.'

‘How did you get on with the family, sir?'

‘The Leewoods live off the Homend, in a miserable place in Smoke Alley. If I said it was as bad as some of the places I used to visit in Whitechapel, I would not be far off the mark. Even the rats appeared to have left last year.'

‘I know what you mean, sir,' sympathized Crabb.

‘I spoke with an old woman, who appears to be dying from some form of consumption, who said she was the mother of our Joshua Leewood. She told me that her daughter-in-law had run off with a tinker some two years ago, and that her grandchildren were living she knew not where in some other part of Ledbury. Apparently she has neither seen nor heard anything concerning her son since he was sent down,' said Ravenscroft, standing before the fire and
feeling the heat beginning to make its way up his back.

‘Bit of a blank there then, sir.'

‘At least there was no sign that Leewood was there, so one can only assume that he is still locked up in Hereford gaol.'

‘We won't know that until we receive the reply,' replied Crabb, accepting two plates of food from the barman. ‘This looks mighty good.'

‘Ah, you won't be disappointed there. Best venison pie in the whole of Herefordshire. I'll just get your ale, gentlemen.'

‘Thank you, my man. Have one yourself at our expense,' said Ravenscroft, looking down at the plate before him.

‘That's uncommonly good of you, sir, I don't mind if I do.'

‘Eat up, Crabb. Hopefully the snow will have eased after our lunch and we can go and pay a visit on Mr Catherwood and attempt to discover what part, if any, he plays in this affair.'

An hour later Ravenscroft and Crabb left the Feathers Hotel. A thin layer of snow had settled over the ground and a hesitant sun was attempting to appear from beneath a dark-looking cloud as the two men made their way on foot up a narrow lane that ran off the marketplace.

‘I thought it best if we walk in this weather, Crabb. Catherwood's place can't be more than ten-minute's away from here,' said Ravenscroft.

Their journey took them away from the town as they began to climb steadily upwards, past a wood on their right and some fields stretching away downwards on their left-hand side. Eventually a large, rambling, black and white house came into view, the grounds of which were surrounded by a forbidding wooden fence. As they drew near they could hear the sound of dogs barking.

‘That would seem to be the main gate over there,' said Ravenscroft, pointing to one side.

‘I don't like the look of those animals,' said Crabb, observing that their approach was being heralded by two large dogs intent on preventing any intruders from entering the grounds of their domain.

‘Perhaps if we wait here for a minute or two their owner may appear and give us safe passage,' suggested Ravenscroft.

‘What do you two want on my land?' called out a voice suddenly.

Ravenscroft and Crabb turned to see a middle-aged man of stocky, rugged appearance walking towards them.

‘Mr Catherwood?' enquired Ravenscroft.

‘Depends who wants him.'

‘Inspector Ravenscroft from the local constabulary, and this is my associate Constable Crabb.'

‘And what do you want with me?' said the man in an offhand manner.

‘We are investigating the death of Mr Montacute. I believe you may be able to assist us in our enquiries, if we might have a few moments of your time?'

The man stared at the two detectives for a few seconds and then said, ‘You best come in then.'

‘Thank you,' replied Ravenscroft.

‘Mind the dogs,' instructed Catherwood, opening the gate.

One of the animals leapt up to greet its master, while the other growled at a nervous Crabb and seemed intent on trying to jump upwards on to the constable.

‘Down, you brute!' shouted Catherwood.

The two dogs instantly obeyed.

‘Dogs won't hurt you unless you startle or threaten them. Follow me, gentlemen.'

Crabb gave Ravenscroft a look of relief as the two men followed the owner and his dogs along the path towards the main door of the residence.

‘You are not originally from these parts then, Mr Catherwood?' asked Ravenscroft.

‘Yorkshire.'

‘How long have you been resident in Ledbury?'

‘Twenty-one years,' replied Catherwood, opening the door and indicating that they should enter.

Ravenscroft and Crabb found themselves standing on the quarry-tiled floor of a large room of rustic appearance, which was dominated by a great oak table and chairs in its centre, and a roaring log fire blazing forth from a stone hearth at the far end.

‘Take a seat, gentlemen,' said their host, throwing his hat down on the table. ‘I thought it would not be long before you arrived.'

‘Oh, why do you say that, sir?' said Ravenscroft, pulling out one of the chairs from the table and seating himself as the two dogs
stretched out before the fire.

‘You know perfectly well, Ravenscroft, that Montacute and myself were once business partners and that we had a severe falling out. You no doubt see me as your main suspect,' replied Catherwood without hesitation.

‘I would not say that, Mr Catherwood. At this stage we are merely making enquiries. The more we can discover about the late gentleman's affairs, the more information we can obtain which may help us to eventually make an arrest,' said Ravenscroft, sensing that his host was a man who liked to come quickly to the main point of an argument, and that he would need to tread carefully so as not to give offence.

‘Don't mince your words, Ravenscroft,' said Catherwood.

‘Tell me why you and Montacute fell out,' said Ravenscroft.

‘The man cheated on me.'

‘Can you elaborate further, Mr Catherwood?'

‘Shortly after I arrived in Ledbury, Montacute got me to invest a large portion of my savings in some old cottages and land at the bottom of New Street, telling me all kinds of fanciful stories about how their value would double in five years. Then after two years he said the council – of which he was the mayor of at that time – would need to acquire the land in order to widen the road and that we would have to sell for a fraction of the price we had paid. There was nothing I could do but comply with the demand, or face the courts. Montacute then said that if I invested the sale proceeds, I would soon double my investment, as he knew of a good company in the city that was involved in shipping and was sure to do very well. I, like a fool, believed him. The following year, Montacute sold his share of the New Street properties to the Ledbury Gas Coke and Coal Company for the new gas works and made a pretty pile in the process – seemed as though he had not sold his share of the original investment after all. At the same time the company I had speculated in became bankrupt after one of their ships was lost at sea.'

‘Unfortunate,' muttered Crabb, writing in his notebook.

‘Not unfortunate at all! I sold out my share of the investment to Montacute, only to learn later that the company had been resurrected and had doubled its profits the following year. I call that sharp practice,' added Catherwood.

‘I can see why you disliked Mr Montacute,' said Ravenscroft, trying to sound sympathetic.

‘Dislike is putting it mildly. I hated the man at the time, Ravenscroft, but I soon realized I was powerless to do anything about it. Montacute had nearly ruined me, but he had such a strong hold on the affairs of the town that I could see little opportunity for redress,' replied Catherwood, throwing another log on the fire.

‘And do you still hate Mr Montacute?'

‘No point. At the time I could have killed him quite easily, but as the years go by you soon realize it does you little good to think about the past. No amount of bitterness on my part will bring back my money. I had no time for the man, but I certainly did not kill him. I would not soil my hands with his death.'