The Pershore Poisoners (11 page)

‘Not just yet. I think she would only deny any accusations. We would need to secure further evidence against her before we could proceed in that direction. All the more important to know where she goes when she leaves the house. She could be meeting an admirer, and the two of them could have been planning the old man’s demise, but all this is pure speculation.’

‘Perhaps her admirer is Claybourne?’

‘That’s an idea. Another possibility, but only a speculative one at present, is that Claybourne persuaded the old man to insure his life, leaving the money to Mrs Jacobson on his death. In the meantime Claybourne does not appear to have insured anyone else here at Talbots’, and as far as I can ascertain these remaining policies appear to be in order. We will just have to
wait for Claybourne’s return then we can question him further, and confront him and Mrs Jacobson together,’ said Ravenscroft returning the papers to the table.

‘What shall we do next, sir?’ asked Crabb.

‘It is late today, Tom, and we have not eaten. Time we returned home to partake of some refreshment and gather our thoughts in preparation for tomorrow.’

Ravenscroft retired late, and after changing his position a number of times from one side to the bed to the other, much to his wife’s annoyance, fell into a fitful sleep, where the events of the previous few days each sought prominence against each other. The faces of the Talbots, the professor and his wife, the Fanshaw sisters, Turco and Cherrington, each came into view seeking to eclipse one another.

Then again Ravenscroft found himself in the dead woman’s bedroom staring down at the corpse, before the scene was replaced by a greasy Talbot waving a pistol round above his head in the kitchen of the lodging house, and then to the chemist’s shop where the large coloured bottles tumbled down, one after another, onto the top of his head. Then he saw himself running up and down the creaking flights of stairs, in pursuit of a dark, mysterious, laughing figure, whom he could never quite reach, and who gradually receded into the distance – and all the time there was the wild music of Turco’s violin in the background, coupled with the laughter of a grinning Cherrington.

‘It’s Cherrington!’ exclaimed Ravenscroft suddenly waking up in a cold sweat and sitting bolt upright in bed.

‘Whatever is the matter, Samuel?’ groaned a half-conscious Lucy.

‘It’s Cherrington. He is the Pimlico poisoner!’

‘I thought you were investigating a crime in Pershore, not Pimlico?’

‘Yes, but Cherrington was the Pimlico poisoner. I knew I had seen him somewhere before!’

‘Can’t this wait until the morning, Samuel,’ said Lucy turning over on her side.

‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry. How silly of me not to have recognized him, after all these years. It’s Quinton again.’

‘Samuel!’ sighed Lucy drawing the bedclothes over her head.

‘Yes, sorry my dear,’ said Ravenscroft lying down once more.

‘So you think it was Mr Cherrington who poisoned Jones and Miss Martin?’ asked Lucy pouring out the tea at the breakfast table. ‘I thought you said yesterday that it was probably Mrs Jacobson who had killed them?’

‘Well yes, I still believe that the Jew’s wife is our most likely suspect, but this morning I am not quite so sure,’ replied Ravenscroft vigorously buttering a slice of toast.

‘You were talking about Pimlico. What has that to do with the murders in Pershore?’

‘Ah well – perhaps I had better start at the beginning.’

‘I think that would be a good idea.’

‘Well, many years ago, when I first joined the police force in London, I was sent to the local police station in Pimlico, just north of the river, where my superior officer was an inspector in late middle-age by the name of Robertson. I remember he was always coughing and sneezing as though he had some dreadful cold, which he could never throw off, but that is by the by. Robertson was one of the old band of policemen, not quite old enough to have been one of the original Runners or Peelers, but not far off. He was very strict with us young constables and came down hard on any criminals who came his way, and he often boasted that he always caught his man.
Anyway after I had been there for a few months, one afternoon Robertson and I were called to a house in Pimlico where the wife of a certain Captain Quinton had just suddenly died. She had apparently been ill with stomach ailments for two or three weeks, and the couple had only been married for a month or so.’

‘How sad,’ interjected Lucy.

‘Yes, she was quite young, in her mid-twenties I would say. Anyway, Robertson suspected that she had probably died as the result of arsenic poisoning, and suspicion naturally fell on her new husband, especially when we learned that she had bought a sizeable settlement with her to the marriage.’

‘You think he married her for her money?’

‘That seemed most likely, but the thing which damned Quinton was that we found a diary which the young lady had kept both before and after her marriage. In this diary she recounted how she had come to Pershore to recover from the loss of her betrothed who had been killed in India, and how she met her future husband there.’

‘Ah, I see where Pershore fits into the narrative,’ said Lucy after sipping her tea.

‘Quite. What was interesting, however was the last entry in the diary, which was scarcely legible, but which quite plainly implicated her husband, in that she claimed that he was poisoning her.’

‘The awful man! He should have hung.’

‘Yes, he deserved to, the evidence was plain for all to see, and the case came quickly to trial, but poor Robertson had not reckoned on Sefton Rawlinson.’

‘Whoever was Sefton Rawlinson?’

‘Sefton Rawlinson was, and is, the most underhand, craftiest, slippery brief in the whole of the Old Bailey.’

‘Sounds as though you don’t like him?’

‘I do not indeed. I have bought many criminals to court over the years only to find that they have escaped justice on some technicality, or fabrication, offered to the jury by Sefton Rawlinson. But to go back to the
Pimlico Poisoning
case as the newspapers called it, Rawlinson claimed that the last diary entries had been written by a deranged women, who was so ill and delirious at the time of writing, that she was under the mistaken impression that her husband was responsible for her illness. The jury believed this nonsense of course, and when Rawlinson called Quinton, he presented himself as the distraught loving husband, whose life had been blighted by the sad demise of the woman he had loved. The prosecution could bring no evidence to prove that Quinton had actually murdered his wife, and as arsenic leaves neither smell nor taste, he was quickly acquitted. Poor old Robertson never got over the case. He had always firmly believed that Quinton had been guilty of the crime, and he left the force shortly afterwards, an embittered man, and somewhat under a cloud. Within a few weeks I was also sent off to Whitechapel, a far different area from peaceful, relatively genteel Pimlico.’

‘So this Captain Quinton went free?’ asked Lucy intrigued by the narrative.

‘Yes, unfortunately. There was nothing we could do about it, until now.’

‘So you believe that your Mr Cherrington is none other than this Captain Quinton?’

‘I am sure of it. As soon as I saw him I had the strong impression that I’d seen him somewhere before. Of course it has been over twenty years since the
Pimlico Poisoning
case, and Quinton was probably in his late twenties then, clean shaven, but still with the same haughty, over confident manner. Now he has a moustache and beard, and is much older, but I am convinced he is the same man. Strange that he has returned
to the same town where he met his wife. He must be on the lookout for another young woman to marry,’ said Ravenscroft eating a piece of toast.

‘How dreadful. So if this Quinton poisoned his first wife, he most likely poisoned Jones and Miss Martin as well?’

‘That would seem most likely, but why? I don’t really understand, but yes that is it. He must have been courting Miss Martin with the intention of making her his next wife and thereby acquiring her fortune.’

‘But why would he have poisoned her before he married her – and anyway you said that this Miss Martin appeared to have lived a meagre existence.’

‘That is not to say that she did not have money elsewhere, or perhaps she was to inherit money upon her marriage, and Quinton found out about this and saw her as his next victim,’ suggested Ravenscroft.

‘But if that had been the case why would he have first felt the need to poison Jones?’

‘Perhaps Jones and Cherrington had met somewhere in the past, and Jones rather than speak out decided to blackmail him. Cherrington then decided to poison Jones to get him out of the way, and so that he could continue to woo Miss Martin.’

‘Yes, but if that was so, why did he then kill Miss Martin before he had chance to marry her?’

‘Maybe she found out that Cherrington had poisoned Jones, so he was left with no other choice than to poison her as well.’

‘The dreadful man! You must bring him to book, Samuel.’

‘Easier said than done. We have to remember that we are dealing with a very cleaver, cunning man, and that he was acquitted by a jury. We also have no evidence that he poisoned either Miss Martin or Jones. Unless I can find the arsenic on him and break him down with our questions, there may not be much chance of arresting him, but I tell you, Lucy, I intend to
have a very good go. He will not escape the law this time. But enough of all this. You have decided to go to Weymouth later this morning?’

‘I think I should wait a day or two until this case is over. I’d so like you to come as well,’ said Lucy smiling.

‘And I should like to accompany you and the boys. No, I think you should definitely go this morning. After all you have made the reservations and Susan will be going with you to take care of little Arthur. I will follow on in a day or so, later in the week I promise, as soon as I have extracted a confession from Cherrington. There will still be a few days we can share together.’

‘No, I am quite happy to wait, at least until tomorrow,’ offered Lucy.

‘No, I will not hear of it. You will go. I insist upon it.’

‘Very well, if you are sure that you can take care of yourself whilst we are away?’

‘Lucy, my dear, I was used to looking after myself for forty years before I met you, so I am sure that I will not starve for a day or so, and there is always the local inns if I do get desperate. I shall miss you all horribly, but I know that a week in Weymouth will be of great benefit to you all. So there is an end to the matter. What time does your train depart?’

‘An interesting account, sir,’ said Crabb cracking the whip as the trap made its way along the winding back lane that lead into the town later that morning.

‘Yes, Cherrington, or Quinton, to give him his proper name, has been quite devious, but this time I mean to bring him to account for all his crimes,’ replied a determined Ravenscroft.

‘I wonder how many other poor women he has trapped and married over the years?’

‘Who knows, but I intend to find out. I don’t believe for one
minute all that nonsense he gave us about tea plantations in India, and smoking cigarettes with Turkish gentlemen on boats on the way home. Waiting for funds to arrive indeed.’

‘Mrs Ravenscroft managed to catch the train then, sir?’ asked Crabb changing the subject.

‘Yes, thank you, Tom. I must say I am rather envious of them.’

‘Never mind, sir. We will soon have this Cherrington under lock and key.’

‘I hope so, Tom. I hope so.’

Crabb bought the horse to a standstill at the end of the
driveway
, and he and Ravenscroft made their way towards the front door, just as a familiar figure was leaving the property.

‘Ah, Mr Cherrington, we were just on our way to have a few words with you,’ said Ravenscroft.

‘Can’t wait, I’m afraid. Have just heard that my funds might have arrived. On my way to the bank to verify the news. Have to leave your questions until later. Sorry, but I am sure you understand?’ replied a breezy Cherrington, about to walk away.

‘I’m afraid it can’t wait, Mr Cherrington. I must insist that we have a few words with you now. It is most urgent,’ said Ravenscroft firmly.

‘Well, I don’t know, this is most annoying,’ complained Cherrington.

‘You could always accompany us to the police station of course, and we could continue the conversation there,’ suggested Ravenscroft.

‘Look, no need for that, Ravenscroft. No need at all. I suppose I can put off the bank. After four weeks of waiting for my money to arrive, I don’t suppose another few minutes will cause any delay.’

‘Thank you, Mr Cherrington. Perhaps if we could speak with you in the privacy of your own room?’

‘Must be serious then. Yes, if you would care to follow me, gentlemen,’ said Cherrington opening the door to the lodging house.

Ravenscroft and Crabb followed their suspect up the two flights of stairs and onto the upper landing, where Cherrington unlocked the door to his rooms.

‘Can I offer you two gentlemen a drink or a cigarette?’ offered their host, as Ravenscroft and Crabb seated themselves in the living room.

‘No thank you, sir,’ replied Ravenscroft, as Crabb took out his pocketbook.

‘I hope you don’t mind if I do?’ asked Cherrington lighting a cigarette before sitting on the armchair before the burnt out remains of the previous night’s fire.

‘We have come about Miss Martin,’ began Ravenscroft.

‘Terrible business. The poor woman. I say, I hope you don’t think I had anything to do with her death, do you? I hardly knew the woman.’

‘I do not think that is quite the case, Mr Cherrington. In fact I think you knew Miss Martin quite well.’

‘I don’t quite know where you get that idea from,’ protested Cherrington leaning back in his chair and blowing smoke out into the room.

‘I think you were going to marry her, to acquire her money,’ said Ravenscroft coming quickly to the matter in hand.

‘That is an absurd idea,’ laughed Cherrington. ‘Quite absurd. The woman had no attraction for me at all, and anyway she was apparently as poor as a church mouse.’

‘Oh, how did you know that, Mr Cherrington?’

‘It was obvious she had no money, otherwise she would not have been residing in this miserable little place. I find the suggestion that Miss Martin and I were in anyway attached to be quite ridiculous.’

‘It is not so ridiculous as it sounds, Captain Quinton,’ said Ravenscroft emphasizing the last two words as he leaned forwards.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand,’ said Cherrington with a look of bewilderment.

‘You don’t remember the
Pimlico Poisoning
case then?’ asked Ravenscroft studying his suspect intently over the top of his spectacles.

‘What on earth was that?’ laughed Cherrington.

‘A young woman who was cruelly poisoned over twenty years ago. I was there, Captain Quinton. I interviewed you and bought you to court,’ said Ravenscroft anxious to press home his advantage.

‘Look, what on earth are you talking about man? What on earth was this
Paddington Poisoning
case?’