The Pershore Poisoners (5 page)

‘Yes,’ replied the professor’s wife walking across the room and positioning herself by the side of the old man’s chair.

‘Did either of you notice anything unusual occurring at the meal?’

‘I am afraid I saw nothing, inspector. I lost my sight some years ago,’ said Professor Jacobson.

‘I am sorry,’ apologized Ravenscroft.

‘I am quite dependent on my wife now. She is my eyes. She takes good care of me. I want for nothing.’

Ravenscroft observed that the young woman with the black swept-backed hair and pale complexion looked down uneasily at her feet. ‘Mrs Jacobson, did you notice anything unusual?’

‘Er, no.’

‘I believe everyone was ill after consuming the Brown Windsor?’ asked Ravenscroft.

‘Yes, unfortunately so, but we were well again by the morning,’ replied Mrs Jacobson.

‘The cooking leaves a lot to be desired in this establishment, but we manage to survive,’ smiled Jacobson.

‘Can you tell me anything about Mr Jones?’

‘I do not understand you,’ replied the old man bringing his thin wrinkled hands together and placing then on top of the Paisley rug that covered his knees.

‘We are trying to establish some facts regarding the dead man’s character and history. I wonder if you could help us? Did you engage him in conversation at all? He may, perhaps, have mentioned where he came from, or what he was doing in the town,’ suggested Ravenscroft hopefully, although realizing that he was probably clutching at straws.

‘The gentleman said very little as I recall. He had only been here for a short period of time before his sad demise. No, I am afraid we cannot assist you in this matter,’ replied Jacobson.

‘I see. How long have you and Mrs Jacobson resided here at Talbots’?’ enquired Ravenscroft casting a brief glance round the dimly lit room, where to him it seemed as though time had stopped still many years ago.

‘Five years,’ said Mrs Jacobson.

‘And before that?’ asked Ravenscroft.

‘London,’ replied Jacobson. ‘But why do you ask? I cannot
see what this has to do with poor Mr Jones.’

‘We believe that Mr Jones did not die from eating too much of the Brown Windsor, but rather that he was poisoned by someone in this house.’

‘And you think that we may be suspects?’ protested Jacobson, with a slight laugh.

‘No, not at all. It would assist us in our inquiries, however if we could learn a little about each of the residents, so that they could be eliminated from our inquiries,’ replied Ravenscroft attempting to sound as tactful as he could.

‘I see, inspector. What would you like to know?’ said Jacobson reaching out for his wife’s hand.

‘If you could tell us a little about your background, and how you came to live here in Pershore?’ asked Ravenscroft. ‘I believe you may originate from abroad?’

‘You are correct, inspector. My husband came originally from St. Petersburg,’ said Mrs Jacobson taking hold of her husband’s hand.

‘I left there twenty-five years ago, to escape the persecution that I was subject to in that city. We Jews were not welcome there, and were encouraged to leave,’ replied Jacobson. ‘It is not easy living in a country where the ruling powers do not like you, but then Jews have often been disliked in the countries where we have settled. And so I came to London. I was a professor of Religious Studies at the Saint Petersburg University, so I was able to secure some employment in a Jewish teaching establishment in London. Fortunately you English are a more tolerant race of people.’

‘And you, Mrs Jacobson?’ asked Ravenscroft addressing the young woman. ‘You are not Jewish, I presume?’

‘You are correct, inspector. I was bought up in Whitechapel in London. I was a seamstress by occupation. Then one day I met my husband,’ replied the woman smiling somewhat nervously.

‘Crosskeys Lodging House was where we met, was it not, my dear?’ added Jacobson.

‘I know Whitechapel very well,’ said Ravenscroft.

‘Then you will know why we left shortly after our marriage. All that noise, and smells, and over-crowding. My eyesight was beginning to fade. Rosanna here suggested that we should move elsewhere, and so it was that our searches bought us here eventually to Pershore. It is a pleasant enough town. Talbots’ is not the best of establishments, as I think you will quickly discover, inspector, but it serves our needs and we live very frugally.’

‘Is that all, inspector?’ asked the old man’s wife abruptly. ‘I think we have answered all your questions. Now my husband needs his rest.’

‘Yes, thank you,’ said Ravenscroft rising from his seat. ‘You have both been very helpful.’

‘I will see you out,’ said Mrs Jacobson.

‘I do not suppose that either of you sent me a letter concerning the death of Jones?’ asked Ravenscroft.

‘No. Why would we have done that?’ replied Jacobson.

‘It is of no consequence. Thank you once again for your time.’

‘Well, they are an odd couple,’ whispered Crabb as the two men stood on the landing.

‘Yes. It is apparent that the old man is very much dependent on his young wife for most things, although I wonder if he is really as blind as he says he is?’ replied Ravenscroft.

‘What drives a young woman like that to marry such an old man as him?’

‘I don’t know. There is certainly a great deal of difference in their ages. She must be in her twenties, whereas he must be well into his seventies I would think. I wonder why they
married, and why did he marry a Christian?’

‘She came from Whitechapel. Your old territory, sir,’ laughed Crabb. ‘Seamstress she said.’

‘And so she might have been, who knows. She seemed very unsettled by our presence, and very protective of her husband, but then perhaps that is understandable. Did you notice how she blushed when he mentioned the Crosskeys Lodging House?’

‘Yes sir,’ replied Crabb.

‘Well, I know the Crosskeys. It was a place frequented by certain ladies of the night.’

‘My word, sir! No wonder she went red when you mentioned that you knew Whitechapel.’

‘It may be nothing of course.’

‘You think they may have killed Jones?’ asked Crabb.

‘I cannot see an obvious motive, although they could have encountered Jones in London before they came here I suppose. I feel they may have a great deal more to tell us, but we will leave it for the present until we have interviewed all the other guests.’

‘Shall I knock on this door?’

‘If you would, Tom.’

Crabb raised his hand to the door, but before he could bring it down on the panel, he found that it had suddenly opened.

‘Ah, and you must be Inspector Ravenhill?’ pronounced a tall, thin, upright grey-haired lady standing in the doorway.

‘Ravenscroft. Detective Inspector Ravenscroft – and this is my associate Constable Crabb,’ said the detective somewhat taken aback by the dramatic opening of the door.

‘Inspector Ravenscroft, do please forgive me. Do come in inspector. We have heard so much about you from Mr Talbot. You have come about poor Mr Jones no doubt?’ said the lady indicating that the two men should enter.

‘Indeed, Miss Fanshaw,’ replied Ravenscroft stepping into
the room. ‘I believe you and your sister may be able to assist us in our inquiries.’

‘Do you hear that, Clarisa? The inspector says that we may be of assistance,’ said the lady turning to face a frail,
greyhaired
woman, of even slighter stature, who rose from a chair before the fire.

‘Good day to you, miss,’ said Ravenscroft addressing the other woman. ‘I understand that you are Miss Clarisa Fanshaw – and you are?’ he asked turning to face the lady who had opened the door to them.

‘Miss Arabella Fanshaw.’

‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance, ladies.’

‘Do please take a seat, inspector,’ indicated his hostess. ‘Perhaps you and your constable would like some tea?’

‘That would be most kind of you,’ replied Ravenscroft accepting the chair near the fire, as the two sisters left the room.

‘Very pleasant,’ whispered Crabb taking one of the other chairs.

Ravenscroft looked around the room with its comfortable armchairs, patterned carpet, Regency sideboard and delicate ornaments, and could not help feeling the contrast with the previous room he had just visited. Whereas the Jacobsons’ room had a darkened, almost claustrophobic atmosphere, this room evidenced much light and warmth, and displayed a care and attention to detail of its occupants. A painting of a small Georgian country house, set in woodland, hung in centre place over the fireplace, and the mantel itself was adorned by old photographs of numerous people in ornate silver frames.

‘Now here we are,’ said Arabella Fanshaw returning to the room bearing a large silver tray, closely followed by her sister, after a few minutes had elapsed.

‘Allow me, miss,’ said Crabb standing up and taking hold of the tray.

‘Thank you, constable,’

‘Where would you like me to place it, miss?’

‘On the table over there by the chair, if you will.’

‘You have delightful rooms here,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘You must have been here for quite a while?’

‘Ten years,’ said the younger sister speaking for the first time.

‘Twelve, my dear Clarisa, if I am not mistaken,’ corrected Arabella.

‘So you have not always lived in Pershore?’ asked Ravenscroft glancing across at the painting.

‘No, we came originally from Ireland, near Coleraine,’ offered Clarisa.

‘How do you like your tea, inspector,’ interrupted Arabella turning to face Ravenscroft.

‘Just a little milk and sugar.’

‘And you, constable?’

‘The same miss, thank you’, replied Crabb.

‘Now how can my sister and I be of assistance to you?’ asked Arabella after Ravenscroft and Crabb had been handed their cups. ‘We were given to understand that poor Mr Jones died from eating too much of that dreadful soup that Mrs Talbot cooked for us all. We were both quite ill ourselves in the night.’

‘That is what we first thought, but new evidence has come to light which suggests that Mr Jones was in fact poisoned,’ replied Ravenscroft.

‘Oh, good heavens!’ exclaimed the younger sister with a look of alarm.

‘Now then, Clarisa, do not distress yourself. Go on, inspector,’ said the anxious elder sister.

‘In fact it appears that Mr Jones did not in fact partake of the soup during the dinner. We believe that poison had been placed in his bottle of tawny port.’

‘How perfectly awful,’ said the younger sister turning away.

‘How perfectly dreadful. Who can have done such a terrible thing?’ added Arabella.

‘That is what we would like to know. Can either of you ladies provide us with any information regarding the dead man? Did he ever speak to you, or confide in you perhaps?’

‘No, Mr Jones said very little. Of course, he was only with us for just under two weeks. I don’t think he wanted to talk to anyone very much. Not a sociable kind of person at all. We did try to engage him in conversation, but he expressed little interest,’ replied Arabella with a slight hint of disapproval.

‘Do you recall if he spoke with anyone else in particular?’ continued Ravenscroft.

‘No. There was no one.’

‘Did he ever give any indication what his business was here in Pershore, or where he might have originated?’

‘I think he—,’ began the younger sister.

‘Mr Jones did mention that he would only be with us for a short time,’ interrupted Arabella.

‘Did he say where he might be going to when he left this establishment?’ asked Ravenscroft sipping his tea.

‘He might have mentioned once that he was waiting for a letter which might take him shortly to London,’ offered Arabella.

‘That is interesting – and do you know whether he received such a letter?’

‘I don’t know. If he did, he certainly did not mention it.’

‘Did Mr Jones ever give any indication that he had previously been known to any of the residents of Talbots’?’

‘What a strange question to ask, inspector,’ smiled Arabella.

‘It may be that the deceased gentleman had previously encountered one of the residents here sometime in the past, and that this other person may have had a reason to poison him.’

‘How extraordinary. More tea, inspector?’

‘No thank you, Miss Fanshaw. So there was no one in particular whom you saw conversing with Mr Jones?’

‘No one,’ said Clarisa in a quiet voice and with a vacant expression.

‘No one,’ echoed Arabella, ‘Although there was one occasion I recall, about three or four days ago, when I happened to be on the landing one evening, and I saw Mr Jones and Miss Martin conversing together at the foot of the stairs. Of course they may have been exchanging casual gossip about the weather. They were speaking in hushed tones together and I know that when they observed me Miss Martin seemed somewhat agitated, and quickly moved away and entered the dining room alone.’

‘I see. That is most interesting, Miss Fanshaw,’ said Ravenscroft looking up at Crabb who was making notes in his pocket book.

‘You did not mention that to me,’ said Clarisa.

‘Of course I did, Clarisa. I mentioned it to you later that same evening. It is just that you have forgotten, as usual. I expect it was all rather innocent,’ added Arabella.

‘I am sure you are correct. We have yet to interview Miss Martin. Finally, can either of you good ladies think why anyone at Talbots’ would have wanted Mr Jones dead?’

‘No. No one at all. All this is quite terrible, inspector. We simply cannot believe that anyone would have wanted to poison poor Mr Jones,’ said Arabella. ‘Certainly no one here.’

‘I thought he was quite a nice man,’ added Clarisa.

‘I am sure we will not sleep easily in our beds, inspector, until you have caught the person who has committed this terrible deed.’

‘I expect we will soon be able to discover whoever is responsible for this dark deed,’ said Ravenscroft placing his cup on the table and rising to his feet. ‘Thank you so much for the tea.
Rest assured, ladies, we will do everything we can to apprehend the perpetrator.’

‘I do hope so, inspector,’ said Arabella as she and her sister rose from their seats.