‘As you wish Crabb,’ said Ravenscroft lying down again.
Crabb left the room, leaving Ravenscroft alone with his thoughts. So the case appeared to be over. Everyone seemed to suggest that Old Penny, the blind outcast, had committed the crimes, and who was he to disagree with such a conclusion? He had neither the energy, nor the will to pursue the matter further, and was relieved the case was now finally closed.
Stebbins entered the room, bearing a tray of welcoming food and liquor.
‘Stebbins you are a good man. I could eat a horse, and that food looks particularly good.’
‘Glad to see you is back to your usual form sir,’ said the youth smiling and placing the tray on the bedside table.
‘What time is it Stebbins?’
‘Three o’clock in the afternoon sir.’
‘Perhaps I’ll venture outside after I’ve eaten this food. The sunlight and fresh air will do me good.’
‘Very good sir,’ grinned the youth.
‘And Stebbins, will you inform Doctor Mountcourt that I will be leaving tomorrow,’ said Ravenscroft, knowing that there was little reason for him to stay, and that he would seize the opportunity to be rid of Malvern, the Tudor and all that Raggedstone nonsense for good and all.
‘Sorry we’ll be losing your sir,’ muttered Stebbins on the way out, before whistling his way down the corridor. Ravenscroft consumed the food and drink that had been bought for him, then rose from his bed and dressed. The sun shining in through the window seemed to offer the prospect of better things to come, and he was determined to take advantage of any fresh situations that would present themselves. He still had nearly a week left of his holiday; still time to make it to Brighton.
He made his way slowly down towards the churchyard, gaining in confidence with every step, but having little desire to venture onto the hills. Here he found the seat by the wall, near the Kelly grave he had found previously. He again looked at the headstone and wondered at the tragedy that the words encompassed. Within the space of one year, both the father and the son had been taken, the boy cruelly whilst still in infancy, leaving the wife and mother to mourn their loss. For a brief moment he saw himself looking down again at the young girl on the cold cobbles of the London alleyway, and wondered whether her past life had yet been mourned by those that had known her? Then his thoughts turned back towards his own childhood, and the sister he had never known, who had died before his own birth, and how each year on the sixth day of November, he and his parents had always made the journey of remembrance up the winding path that lead to the tiny churchyard above the village where they had lived. Years later he had buried his parents in that same plot of earth, had turned his back on the old life, and had travelled to London, where he had busied himself with his career in the police force, eventually rising to his present rank of Inspector. In the years that had followed, on bad days, he had often thought of leaving the noisy, dirty, fog bound streets of the capital behind him, and returning once more to his birth village, where he would again take up the threads of that other, earlier life, but always the mood would pass, and he would become reconciled to his usual everyday existence. Had he perhaps always been too eager to accept that world which he had created for himself? Now that he had recovered from the illness, which had threatened to engulf him, there seemed that there was again the possibility of another place — another world — somewhere, which awaited his arrival, where he could be given new opportunities, and where he could be reborn.
He turned away from the headstone, and looked up at the church. He sat down, turned his face to the sun, closed his eyes, and felt the gentle warmth beginning to heal his body.
‘I think you have been looking for me Mr. Ravenscroft,’ said a voice that he had heard briefly before. He opened his eyes, and saw the veiled lady sitting on the seat next to him.
‘We met on the train,’ he said, without thinking, his thoughts broken by her arrival.
‘And you were kind enough to help me with my luggage. I saw you at the Well House that morning on the day after, and your face looking out on the churchyard from the window. Then you tried to speak with me here.’
Ravenscroft found her quiet, evenly phrased way of talking slightly unnerving and began to make excuses, but she raised her hand and stopped him almost before he had begun.
‘I suppose I must be an item of curiosity to one such as yourself, a police inspector from London.’
‘How do you know — ’
‘You are the talk of the town Mr. Ravenscroft.’
‘I see.’
There followed an uneasy silence.
‘Now that you have finally caught up with me Mr. Ravenscroft, I see that you are unwilling to satisfy your curiosity.’
‘I am sorry. I had not wanted to be so forward.’
‘You have come to Malvern to seek something, or perhaps you are escaping from a part of your past?’ she inquired, ignoring his last comment.
‘I was instructed to take the water cure by my superiors.’
‘And have you found what you were seeking?’ she said, gently drawing back her veil to reveal a face of fine features and strange determination.
‘I am not sure,’ he replied looking away, least his gaze should cause offence.
‘One day, I am sure, you will find what you are looking for,’ she said smiling gently.
‘And you ma’am, have you found what you are seeking?’
She turned away sharply, but not before Ravenscroft had seen the look of bitterness which had flickered momentarily across her face. ‘I’m sorry, I have no desire to cause you any distress,’ he added quickly.
‘I will never find what I am seeking Mr. Ravenscroft,’ she said turning to face him, ‘You have discovered my husband and child I see, as I knew you would in time. They lie there together. In years to come the inscription will fade, and when you and I are gone, people will pass by the stone not knowing the joy and grief that they gave in their lifetime. When they died, it was as if my life had ended. So soon, Mr. Ravenscroft, it was all so soon. First my husband — then my poor baby. My husband had bought it all upon us, but my son — he was completely blameless. Life is so unfair, Mr. Ravenscroft. Perhaps you could tell me why it is always the innocent who are taken from us?’
‘I cannot answer that question ma’am,’ replied Ravenscroft seeking to understand her despair. ‘Perhaps in time the pain will pass.’
‘Oh, that is what they all say. All those people who think they know what you are going through, but who can never hope to understand. Time, I can assure you, does not help to deaden the pain — it merely encompasses all the hurt and anger.’ Her voice began to trail away, and her eyes began to fill with tears, leaving Ravenscroft aware of the futility of his own words.
‘Perhaps religion?’ was all he could say, but he knew it was only an empty gesture.
‘Religion seeks to make grief respectable. It cannot offer me anything.’
‘And yet your son and husband are buried here, my good lady, and you visit their grave?’
‘There has to be somewhere, where I can sit — and remember them, somewhere where we can be alone, together.’
‘Of course, I understand. You spoke of anger just now,’ inquired Ravenscroft.
‘Yes there is always anger. Anger that someone you loved has caused all this, through his own stupidity and negligence. Anger that the son, whom you loved more than your own life, was taken away from you because of that folly. Anger that grew as you watched them die, slowly and in pain, and knowing all the time that you could do nothing to bring them relief — nothing to make their passing easier. Do you know what all that feels like Mr. Ravenscroft, to know that your own resolve can do so little? And all the time the anger grows, as they slip away from you. No you cannot, for although I am sure you have loved Mr. Ravenscroft, you have never been witness to that death of love, and there is always the hope, the prospect, that love may re-enter your life sometime again in the future, whereas I no longer seek, nor wish to acquire such love ever again. In my situation it is the anger, above all else — the anger that makes my life barely tolerable, until it can be resolved.’