The Ledbury Lamplighters (16 page)

‘All right! All right!’ protested the woman through her coughs. ‘Yes, I was there, but I don’t know anything about any poisoning.’

‘I find that very difficult to believe,’ said Ravenscroft.

‘Believe what you like!’ retorted the old woman.

‘If you didn’t poison Mr Montacute then what were you doing at the Feathers that night?’

‘Curse you damned police! I was outside the room waiting for them to come out, so that they could have charity on such an old woman as myself.’

‘You were hoping that the guests would give you money as they left?’ asked Ravenscroft, noting the bitterness and anger in her voice.

‘What else could I do? How else was I to get money to buy food for my boy?’ replied the old woman, coughing before spitting on to the floor.

‘So you were there, begging for money. I did not see you in the room.’

‘It would have been bad luck to have gone in. Then I heard them cry out that old Montacute had been poisoned, so I left as soon as I could. Got what was coming to him, I say!’

‘How long were you standing outside the room?’

‘About ten minutes.’

‘Mrs Leewood, my next question is a very important one, and I would appreciate an honest reply. When you were standing outside the room, did you see anyone going in, before the lights were put out, other than the lamplighters?’ asked Ravenscroft, realizing that the woman was probably telling the truth and adopting a more conciliatory tone in his questioning.

‘No.’

‘When the lights went out, were you aware of anyone either entering or leaving the room?’

‘No one.’

‘And as the lights came back on, did you notice if anyone left the room in a hurry?’

‘I’ve just said, there was no one!’ growled the old woman, before coughing and spitting once more on to the floor.

‘You’re absolutely sure on that point?’

‘Curse you, listen to what I says!’

Ravenscroft looked away, and suddenly became aware that a large black rat was climbing out of the sink. As it made its way down on to the floor, the cat quickly pounced on the creature, and the noise of the ensuing battle engulfed the room.

‘Thank you, Mrs Leewood. I wish you good day,’ said the detective, feeling a cold shiver run down his spine and walking swiftly over towards the door, bypassing the two adversaries on the way.

‘Here, what about my Joshua? You going to send him back to Hereford then?’ called out the old woman – but Ravenscroft had already closed the door securely behind him, and had quickly sought the sanctuary of the Homend.

‘Good morning to you, my man.’

‘Morning to you as well, sir.’

‘I see you are busy at your work.’

‘Always busy in my line of work, particularly at this time of year.’

Ravenscroft had just entered the churchyard and had found the stonemason, leaning over and busily engaged in creating a new inscription on the side of the Montacute vault. ‘Why, it’s Mr Sanderson again, if I am not mistaken. Forgive me, I did not recognize you in your different apparel. So you are a carver by profession as well as having charge of the town’s lights.’

‘That I am, sir. Has to do something during the day, when it ain’t dark,’ replied the old man, straightening up his body.

‘Your industry does you credit, sir. There must be quite a few Montacutes buried here, inside?’ said Ravenscroft, impressed by the man’s versatility, and walking round the monument.

‘Reckon so. I’ve done a few of them,’ replied the stonemason, chipping away at the stone.

‘Oh, which ones?’

‘His two wives. Round the other side.’

Ravenscroft knelt down to examine the lettering.

Sacred to the memory of Margaret Montacute (1827-1856)
Beloved Wife of Nathaniel and Mother of Maurice and Elizabeth
And to Elizabeth Montacute (1851-1855)
Daughter of Margaret and Nathaniel
Tragically Taken from us at such a Young Age.
May They Rest in Peace

In Loving Memory of Enid Montacute (1839-1886)
Second Wife of Nathaniel Montacute, and Mother of Rupert
She was held in the Greatest Affection by both her Family
And the Townspeople of Ledbury.

‘Died quite suddenly, she did,’ said the stonemason, looking over Ravenscroft’s shoulder. ‘Died of a fever, so they say. She were a real lady. It were a great loss to the town when she passed away.’

‘Are there any other Montacutes buried inside?’ asked Ravenscroft.

‘Oh yes, there’s the old master and his wife. They are round the other side. It were my father who did for them. He were mason before me,’ replied Sanderson, laying down his tools and lighting a small pipe.

Ravenscroft walked round to the other side of the monument, and strained to read the older lettering.

In Memory of Giles Montacute (1798-1860)
Banker and Benefactor of This Town
And to Jane Montacute (1799-1863)
A Loving Wife and Mother.

‘Not much room left after I’ve done with old Master Nathaniel. Just enough for his third wife, Miss Edith, when she goes,’ muttered the stonemason.

‘She’s younger than both of us,’ suggested Ravenscroft.

‘She could outlive us all, or be killed tomorrow. Death is a funny thing. Creeps up on you when you are least expecting it. Plenty of fevers always about to carry you off. Six-month-old infant one day, old grandmother tomorrow. You can never tell who’s next. Did a stone last year for a gent that fell under the hooves of a horse whilst our hunting. Could not have been much above thirty in years. You from these parts, Mr Ravenscroft?’ asked Sanderson, drawing on his pipe.

‘I came to Ledbury last year.’

‘You planning on staying here then?’

‘I would hope so.’

‘Could be doing your stone in a few years’ time then.’

‘I sincerely hope not.’

‘Any parents?’

‘They died some years ago – and my sister.’

‘Got yer own family?’

‘Yes, but I must not detain you from your work, Mr Sanderson. I am looking for the vicar,’ said Ravenscroft, deciding that he had no wish to continue with the mason’s current line of enquiry.

‘Inside church. Saw him go inside not ten minutes ago.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Aye, sir, good day – until we meets again.’

Ravenscroft walked quickly away and pushed open the heavy door that led into the church.

‘Good morning to you, Mr Ravenscroft,’ said the vicar, coming forward to greet him.

‘Good morning to you, Vicar,’ replied Ravenscroft, remembering that he had been married but a few months previous in this same church.

‘And how is Mrs Ravenscroft?’

‘Very well, thank you, Vicar.’

‘How can I be of assistance to you?’

‘You are probably aware that I am investigating the death of Nathaniel Montacute.’

‘Yes indeed. What a sad, tragic business. I was there on the night
it happened,’ said the clergyman, shaking his head.

‘I am trying to find out as much as I can about the Montacute family. I wonder if I might go through your parish registers?’

‘Of course, if you think they might prove of value to you in your enquiries.’

‘I’m not really sure at this stage, but the more I can learn about the family, the closer I may be towards finding out who killed Nathaniel Montacute.’

‘The registers are kept in the vestry, if you would care to follow me.’

Ravenscroft followed the clergyman into the side room, where his guide placed a large key in an ancient oak coffer. ‘Ah, here we are. How far do you want to go back? The smaller volumes cover the years before the beginning of our present century, the later larger volumes, still in current use, commence with the year 1812,’ said the vicar, peering into the interior of the chest.

‘I think those that come after 1812 would suffice,’ replied Ravenscroft.

The clergyman lifted a number of volumes out of the chest and placed them on a small table in the centre of the room. ‘This one covers the marriages that took place in the church – that one is for burials – and yes, this one records baptisms. I’m sure you will find many of the Montacutes in there. Of course, Nathaniel married his third wife, Edith, elsewhere, so you won’t find that event recorded. I believe they married somewhere in Italy. Rome, I believe.’

‘I think that was the case.’

‘I’ll leave you to your investigations if you don’t mind. I have a few things to do in the church. I’ll come back and see how you are progressing in a little while.’

‘Thank you, Vicar,’ replied Ravenscroft, drawing up a chair towards the desk as the clergyman left the room, and taking out a small notebook and pencil from his coat pocket.

He opened the Register of Marriages and turned to the last few pages of entries, where he was reassured to discover his own marriage and signature. Then turning over the pages of the volume, he worked steadily backwards from the recent entries towards the beginning of the book. Finding the first and second marriages of Nathaniel Montacute, he jotted down the information in his pocket book, before continuing with his search until he found the
marriage of Giles and Jane Montacute in 1827.

Placing the volume aside, he opened the next register, which contained details of the burials of Ledbury since the year 1812. The last entry recorded the burial of Nathaniel Montacute on 6 January, two days previously. For the next few minutes Ravenscroft turned back the pages, looking down the columns of surnames and noting down any occurrences of the Montacute name, starting with Enid in 1886 until he reached the burials of the earlier members of the family in the second decade of the century. Finally he turned to the Register of Baptisms, and opening the volume at the page headed 1812 began to work forward in time. After some minutes he found an entry for the baptism of the old banker:

After writing down the details, Ravenscroft continued to turn over the pages.

‘Ah, and how is your search progressing?’ asked the vicar, returning to the vestry.

‘Very well, thank you. I have found a number of entries for the family in regard to their marriages and burials,’ replied Ravenscroft.

‘I see you have found Nathaniel’s baptism,’ said the clergyman, looking down at Ravenscroft’s last written entry in his pocket book.

‘Yes, interestingly Giles and Jane don’t appear to have given birth to any other children.’

‘I think there was another son, born much later. If you keep turning over the pages, I’m sure we will find him. Yes, there we are. “1843. Robert. Son of Giles and Jane Montacute. The Cedars. Father’s Profession – Banker.”’

‘A fifteen-year age gap between the two brothers,’ remarked Ravenscroft, recording the entry down in his book.

‘A not uncommon occurrence, I can assure you. Some families in the parish have been known to produce as many as eight or nine children or more in as many years, whilst others wait for much longer periods before the birth of second and third children. Some years ago I came across a family whose second child did not appear
until the couple had been married for nearly twenty years. Such are the laws of nature.’

‘Do we know what happened to this Robert?’ asked Ravenscroft.

‘Perhaps he died in infancy?’

‘There is no entry for his burial in the registers,’ said Ravenscroft, consulting his pocket book.

‘Then I suppose he must have left Ledbury when he was quite young.’

‘Did Nathaniel ever mention him at all?’

‘I don’t recall that he ever did.’

‘Thank you, Vicar, you have been most helpful. Let me give you some assistance in returning the volumes to the coffer.’

‘Good afternoon to you, sir.’

It was later that afternoon when Ravenscroft looked up at the old lamplighter who was busily engaged in lighting the lamps of the town. ‘Why, Mr Sanderson, we meet yet again!’ he exclaimed, wondering how many more times he would encounter the versatile artisan before the day was over.

‘Be a cold one tonight.’

‘I think you are correct,’ replied Ravenscroft, turning up the collar of his coat.

‘Mind how you goes, bit slippery under foot,’ called out the old man as Ravenscroft continued on his way along the street and on past the ancient market hall. Shortly he would be entering the confines of Cocks and Biddulph, where he had arranged to meet Anthony Midwinter and Maurice Montacute, and where he hoped that the mysterious envelope would at last yield up its secrets. Since his visit to Smoke Alley earlier in the day and his questioning of the old woman, he had now established that the old banker’s murderer had been present in the room when the lights had been extinguished. According to Mrs Leewood, no one had either entered or left the room during the arrival of the New Year festivities, and he had almost excluded the possibility that either she or her son had committed the crime in an attempt to gain some kind of revenge. Already new possible lines of enquiry had taken root in his mind, but until he had learned the nature of the contents of the envelope, he was still at a loss to see how the murder of Robertson and the poisoning of Nathaniel Montacute could be
in any way related to one another. He wondered whether Robertson’s murderer was still following his every move, seeking another opportunity to retrieve the envelope when it presented itself, but although he had kept a vigilant lookout for the man on his varied travels during the day, he had not been able to discern any untoward presence.

Ravenscroft pushed open the doors of the bank and was quickly shown into the main office by one of the clerks.

‘Good afternoon to you, Ravenscroft. Mr Midwinter has just been informing me about his Christmas visitor,’ said Maurice Montacute, rising from his chair and shaking his hand as he entered the room.

‘Then Mr Midwinter will also have told you about the desperate attempt that was made to retrieve the envelope.’

‘Yes, indeed. Please do take a seat. And how is your constable?’

‘He is recovering well and should be back on duty tomorrow, I thank you, sir,’ replied Ravenscroft, shaking Midwinter’s hand before accepting the seat.