Ravenscroft smiled as the old sailor made his way out of the bar.
‘Sorry about that, sir. Don’t know what’s got into old Billy tonight. He’s usually well behaved. Seems to have come into some unexpected money,’ said the landlord straightening up the table.
‘Must be one of the hazards of your occupation,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘Don’t I know it! Worcester isn’t a bad place, but some of the folks round here don’t know how to hold their liquor.’
‘Does Billy often come in here?’ asked Crabb.
‘He’s one of my regulars. He earns his money by transporting cargoes up and down the Severn in an old barge called the Mayfly. He’ll be all right in the morning, when he’s slept it off.’
‘Well, Crabb,’ said Ravenscroft standing up, ‘I think my bed at the Cardinal’s Hat calls, and I am sure that lovely wife of yours would like to see you back home. Meet me tomorrow morning at nine, and we will see what the new day brings.’
‘Good morning, sir.’
‘Good morning, landlord,’ said Ravenscroft about to take another sip of his coffee.
‘Perhaps you would like to read the morning paper, sir,’ said the landlord of the Cardinal’s Hat.
‘Thank you.’
‘Report of some terrible murder in London on the inside pages, might be of interest to you, sir.’
Ravenscroft opened the newspaper and began to read.
TERRIBLE MURDER IN EAST END OF LONDON
We have received reports from the London newspapers of a terrible outrage committed in the Whitechapel District of London. The victim has been identified as Annie Chapman, age 47, and is described as being about 5ft tall, of stout appearance, with dark wavy brown hair, blue eyes and thick nose. A member of the unfortunate classes, she frequented Crossingham’s Lodging-house in Dorset Street, prior to her murder.
The body was discovered by one John Davis, a carman employed in Leadenhall Market, at around 6.00 a.m. on the morning of 8 September, in the back yard of 29 Hanbury Street. He immediately raised some of his neighbours, and the local constable was quickly on the scene. We understand that the body was found lying on its back and that it had been severely mutilated. An inquest is to be held shortly.
This outrage is the second to have occurred recently in this area of London. Our readers may recall that on the 30 August last the body of Mary Ann Nichols was discovered in Bucks Row.
We are given to understand that the police are conducting enquiries and that a number of leads are being taken up. Earlier today.…
‘Good morning, sir,’ interrupted a breathless Crabb entering the inn. ‘I think you best come straight away. Apparently your Ruth Weston has disappeared. She has not been seen at her lodgings for the past two days.’
The two men stood outside Glovers Lodging-house waiting for the owner to make her way to the door.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ said Mrs Glover peering through the small gap between the door and its surround.
‘My constable informs me that you sent a message to the police station regarding Miss Weston,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘We understand that she has not been seen for the past two days.’
‘Left me with the boy, she has. I don’t know what to do with him. He’s not my responsibility, is he? I suppose you had better come in then,’ muttered the landlady, opening the door wider, so that the two policemen were able to step into the hallway.
‘When did you last see Miss Weston?’ asked Crabb.
‘It were night before last. She went out, about ten, I think it was.’
‘Did she say where she was going at such a late hour?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘No, why should she? I don’t interfere in the lives of my lodgers, as long as they lead respectable lives. You best follow me into here then,’ said Mrs Glover pushing open a door at the end of the passage.
‘Thank you,’ said Ravenscroft, finding himself in a small room, where an old tattered armchair occupied the centre, and numerous china figures fought for every available inch on tops of tables and around the mantelpiece.
‘I can’t have it, Mr Ravenscourt. All my lodgers keep missing like this. Who’s going to pay the rent at the end of the week, I should like to know?’ moaned the old lady wiping her blotchy nose on her sleeve.
‘I’m sure you will be able to find someone to take over Mr Evelyn’s room quite soon, and Miss Weston might well return,’ suggested Ravenscroft.
‘I’ll believe it when I see it,’ grumbled the landlady.
‘I understand that Miss Weston and her son lived on the ground floor. How long have they been here?’
‘About three years.’
‘Miss Weston was single, I believe.’
‘Yes. I don’t usually have single unmarried women with children at Glovers. I’ve got my reputation to think about.’
‘But you made an exception in this case,’ smiled Ravenscroft.
‘More fool me! Never could resist a sob story. Too kind-hearted I am. Glover said it would always lead to my downfall one day.’
‘Did they ever cause you any trouble?’
‘Suppose not, till now,’ said Mrs Glover, blowing her nose loudly on a large handkerchief.
‘Tell me, how many lodgers are there boarding with you here?’ asked Ravenscroft casually picking up one of the china ornaments and examining it.
‘Here, you put that down! That’s early Worcester that is,’ said the old woman, alarmed.
‘I’m sorry,’ apologized Ravenscroft quickly replacing the figure. ‘You have a fine collection. It must have taken you a long time to have collected so many fine items. You were about to tell me about your other lodgers.’
‘Miss Weston and her son, they have the other two rooms on the ground floor. I have the rooms on the next floor. Lord knows why, with my leg. Then there is Mr and Mrs Bailey, nice young couple they have the next floor, Mr Cranston on the floor above them. He’s a commercial traveller. No trouble. Perfect gentleman, although he’s not often here, travels around quite a lot — always going up to London and such like, on business. Mr Evelyn was on the top floor. We keeps a good house here at Glovers, we do. Glover would never allow any ne’er-do-wells and such like to stay, and I have followed in his footsteps. All my lodgers are highly respectable people. Yes, we keeps a good house here.’
‘I’m sure you do, Mrs Glover. Can you tell me when your other guests will be here? My constable and I will need to have words with them,’ said Ravenscroft.
‘You’ll be lucky. Mr and Mrs Bailey went away two weeks ago, travelling in France, don’t expect them back till later in the month.’
‘And Mr Cranston?’ asked Crabb.
‘He went up to London earlier in the week, as usual. He should be back in a day or so.’
‘Could you tell him upon his return to contact us Mrs Glover?’ asked Ravenscroft.
The old woman shrugged her shoulders.
‘Could you also let us know immediately if Miss Weston returns, if you would be so kind. Oh, where is the boy now?’
‘He’s crying his eyes out in their rooms. I can’t get him to stop. I’ve given him his breakfast, what more does he want? Don’t know what I’m supposed to do with him.’
‘Can I have a word with him?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘Suppose so.’
Mrs Glover opened the door and the two men followed her back along the hallway until they reached the rooms at the front of the property. As they entered, they were met by a young boy whom Ravenscroft recognized from his morning encounter on the cathedral Close, as being Ruth Weston’s son.
‘Has my mummy come back?’ asked the child looking up into Ravenscroft’s face, with tearful red eyes.
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Ravenscroft, kneeling down by the side of the boy. ‘Do you remember me?’
‘You were at the cathedral that morning.’
‘That’s right, Arthur. Your mother and I spoke together. I am a policeman, and I am going to find your mother. Did she say anything to you the other evening, before she went out?’