‘I think you will find what you are looking for on page thirty-five sir,’ said the librarian.
‘Thank you,’ replied Ravenscroft opening the volume.
‘Will that be all, sir?’
‘Yes, thank you’
Ravenscroft began to read, as the librarian gave a neat bow and left the room.
THE ANCIENT CURSE OF RAGGEDSTONE HILL
There is an ancient legend concerning a monk from Little Malvern Priory, who, contrary to his religious vows of chastity, fell in love with one of the local girls. The Prior learning of his disgrace, ordered the monk to crawl on his hands and knees to the top of the Raggedstone Hill every day. Finally one day instead of offering up his usual prayers when he reached the summit, the monk cursed the hill and anyone on whom the shadow of the hill should fall. Shortly afterwards the monk died, worn out by his fatigues and harsh treatment — but the curse he had made lived on. There are numerous stories concerning a number of people on whom the shadow fell and who subsequently suffered disasters. These include Cardinal Wolsey, the chief minister of Henry VIII who fell out with his master; and William Huskisson the famous member of parliament who fell under the wheels of George Stephenson’s Rocket at the opening of the Liverpool to Manchester Railway. One wonders whether anyone else will succumb to the ancient curse?
Ravenscroft closed the book and smiled.
As he left the Reading Rooms he inquired of the attendant, as to the location of the Raggedstone Hill.
‘Over here sir,’ said his informant pointing to a large map on one of the walls.
‘Raggedstone is the last hill but one at the end of the range. It is just off the road that goes from Ledbury, through Eastnor, and on towards Tewkesbury,’ said the attendant. ‘It is quite wild and remote out there. I believe there is only a cottage or two in the area.’
Ravenscroft was relieved that the shadow from the hill did not appear to stretch anywhere near where either Pitzer or Sommersby lived.
‘It is only an old legend sir. Nothing to worry about,’ said the attendant reassuringly as Ravenscroft left the Reading Rooms.
Ravenscroft studied his pocket watch and realised that he would be late for his appointment with the formidable Doctor Mountcourt.
‘I see some signs of improvement.’
The tone and manner were as brisk and efficient as before.
‘I don’t feel any,’ said Ravenscroft pulling his shirt back over his head.
‘It is early days yet Mr. Ravenscroft. I see a slight improvement in your breathing. The water treatment and those walks over the hills must be doing you some good,’ said Doctor Mountcourt. ‘Although I believe you dined out last night?’
‘I was fortunate to receive an invitation.’
‘We would prefer it, if you ate here at the Tudor, at all times, where we can see that your diet is properly regulated. I also see that you missed one of your treatments yesterday afternoon,’ said Mountcourt, looking down at his notebook, a note of disapproval creeping into his voice.
‘Yes, I was investigating the murder of Mr. Pitzer,’ replied Ravenscroft doing up the remaining buttons on his shirt.
‘I thought Mr. Pitzer died from a seizure of some kind,’ said Mountcourt writing on Ravenscroft’s medical card at his desk.
‘He was poisoned.’
‘And you would know, Mr. Ravenscroft?’ said Mountcourt looking up from his writing, and giving Ravenscroft a hard stare.
‘It is my business to know about these things. I am an inspector with the Whitechapel Division in London,’ replied Ravenscroft trying to sound as confident as he could.
‘Ah, I see that would explain your condition, but not your involvement.’ Mountcourt resumed his writing. ‘Malvern is clearly out of your jurisdiction.’
‘I have been invited by the local constabulary to make enquiries regarding the death of Mr. Pitzer, and now Doctor Sommersby as well.’
‘Yes I heard about that. Poor fellow! Bookcase fell on top of him I believe?’
‘Did you know either of the two gentlemen concerned?’
‘I have met them on several occasions. I have been here at the Tudor for only three years. Neither of them, of course, was my patient. I restrict my professional activities to my clientele here at the Tudor. That is more than enough to occupy my time. I expect Gladwyn was their doctor. You should speak with him.’
‘I already have.’
‘Good. I’m sure he has proved most helpful. Now if you will excuse me, I have another patient to see. Please continue with the treatment and walks. I’ll see you again in another three days.’
The two policemen climbed into the waiting cab outside the Tudor.
‘Where to sir?’ inquired Crabb.
‘Back to the Almshouses; I think it is about time that Mr. Armitage showed us those account books,’ replied Ravenscroft.
Several minutes later they found themselves outside the row of old buildings. The two men walked up the path of Armitage’s cottage and knocked on the door.
‘No good you knockin. He ain’t there.’
The speaker was one of the old men with whom they had spoken with the day before.
‘Do you know when he will be back, my good fellow?’ asked Crabb.
‘Don’t know. How should I know? He left last night. Just after you skedaddled,’ said the old man, ‘Ain’t seen him since.’
‘I believe he sometimes goes to see his sister in Ledbury?’ suggested Ravenscroft.
‘Do he now?’
‘You don’t happen to know whereabouts in the town that she resides?’
‘Ledbury I suppose. Ain’t been to Ledders since me wife left us.’
‘Thank you. If Mr. Armitage returns, will you tell him that Inspector Ravenscroft wants to speak with him urgently, and that I can be contacted at the Tudor in Malvern.’
‘Ain’t been to Malvern neither, since I left ’er,’ replied the old man wiping his nose on his sleeve.
‘Nevertheless I would be obliged,’ said Ravenscroft firmly.
‘Sees what I can do.’
‘Good day to you my man.’
‘If we call in at the station in Ledbury, they will know where she lives,’ suggested Crabb as they made their way back to the cab.
‘Good thinking Crabb, then let us do that.’
Their journey continued along winding country lanes until they entered the market town of Ledbury. The cab pulled up outside the police station and Crabb went inside to consult with his colleagues, returning a few minutes later.
‘It seems that there is a Miss Armitage who resides in Church Lane.’
Their driver took them on to the Market Place.
‘Seems an attractive town,’ remarked Ravenscroft climbing down from the cab and looking around at the street full of half-timbered buildings and fine Georgian frontages.
‘Can’t go no further, it’s up there,’ said the cabman pointing in the direction of a narrow lane in front of them.
‘Will you wait for us here then my good man,’ said Crabb patting the horse.
‘I will. Old Patch could do with rest.’
The two men made their way up the narrow cobbled street, where the old timbered buildings faced one another on either side, until they reached a black and white cottage, with neat hanging baskets of flowers outside.
‘I think this is the place,’ said Crabb reaching out for the bell pull.
‘So this is where our Miss Armitage resides,’ remarked Ravenscroft admiring the flowers.
The door was opened by the maid.
‘We understand that Miss Armitage lives here?’ inquired Ravenscroft ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to say that Inspector Ravenscroft from the local Malvern Constabulary would like a word with her.’
The maid curtsied, closed the door half shut and disappeared from view, leaving the two officers standing on the doorstep.
‘The town seems a pleasant enough place,’ said Ravenscroft as they waited.
‘Tis the first time I have been up this lane,’ replied Crabb.
‘Mistress says would you like to enter this way sir,’ said the maid returning.
Ravenscroft and Crabb followed the servant through a brightly lit hall and into a small drawing room.