‘Yes, but it’s not exactly the first time is it? Look at that fiasco last month, when you let that pickpocket walk out of the station without charging him, to say nothing of the time when that swindler walked out the back door of the bank, just as you were coming in through the front entrance.’
‘I wasn’t to know he was there sir.’
‘Your conviction rate is the lowest in your division,’ said his superior, ignoring his last remark and studying an open file in front of him. ‘No, Ravenscroft, this will just not do. It will not do at all. Look at yourself man. When was the last time you thought of purchasing a new suit? You look absolutely terrible.’
‘It’s my asthma sir. I’ve been plagued with it since I was a boy.’
‘What’s that do with it? And what has happened to your head?’
‘I caught it on the pavement where I fell. The bruise should be gone in a day or so.’ He coughed again and felt his chest tightening, as it always did in moments of anxiety.
‘How old are you Ravenscroft? Forty nine is it?’
‘Forty two last month sir.’
‘Not married are you?’
‘No sir.’
‘Pity, a good wife would take you in hand.’
Ravenscroft allowed himself a brief smile.
‘I’m relieving you of duty, as from now,’ announced the Commissioner, closing the file shut with a finality that indicated the interview was nearly at its conclusion.
‘But sir, we have a full case load at the present. If only — ’ he began, but knowing already that his protest would have little success.
‘Abberline will take over your cases. I’m ordering you to take two weeks leave. I will review your future with this force upon your return.’
The Commissioner picked up his pen again and resumed his writing. Ravenscroft rose slowly to his feet. He knew that it would be futile to engage in any further debate. He accepted that the interview was at an end and made his way across towards the door.
‘Malvern!’ shouted the other suddenly.
‘I’m sorry sir?’
‘Malvern! Go to Malvern and take the water cure. My wife went there last year, and came back several pounds lighter and with a fresh glow in her cheeks. She swears by it. Yes Malvern, that’s the place. It will do you a world of good. Plenty of fresh air and exercise, that’s what you need. Malvern might also help to get rid of that damn cough of yours.’
‘Yes sir,’ replied Ravenscroft unenthusiastically.
He closed the door behind him and made his slow way down the old, well-worn staircase, and along the dank corridor, until he emerged once more into the fog bound streets of London.
The guard had already raised his flag as Ravenscroft hurriedly made his way along platform number 7 of Paddington Station. The reception hall had been filled with crowds of people, and he had been forced to queue for his ticket and was now in grave danger of the train leaving before he could find a seat. He peered anxiously into several of the compartments, but found them all fully occupied. He paused for a moment, and lowered his case to the floor, as his cough threatened to erupt once again for the third time since his arrival at the station.
The sound of a whistle blowing made him realise that the train was about to leave without him. Quickly he swept up his case, dashed further along the platform and flung open one of the doors as the train began to move.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he apologized breathlessly to his fellow passengers, as he hastily placed his case on the rack and found himself sitting in the only available seat. He removed his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow and spectacles, coughing again as he did so, before letting out a deep sigh, thankful that he had not been compelled to wait for the next departure.
As the train began to draw away from the station, Ravenscroft opened his newspaper and turned to one of the inside pages, where a certain story caught his attention -
YOUNG FEMALE KILLED IN WHITECHAPEL
On Tuesday evening a young female, not above 13 years of age, was found murdered in the Whitechapel area of London. An inquest held yesterday revealed that the young person had been strangled by a person or persons unknown in a narrow alleyway leading off Brick Lane. At present the identity of the young female is unknown, but we learn that the police authorities have posted several bills with details of her identity in the hope that someone who knows the deceased person may come forward to claim her. Several citizens of the area stated that they saw a tall figure wearing a long black cloak leaving the scene of the crime in some haste. We learn that a member of the local constabulary gave chase but that he was unsuccessful in his attempts to apprehend the felon…
Ravenscroft lowered his paper and smiled — ‘a member of the local constabulary gave chase but he was unsuccessful’. He closed his newspaper, placed his head on the back of his seat and looked out of the window. The train was beginning to pick up speed as it passed the long rows of ugly tenement buildings on either side of the track.
He turned to study his travelling companions. Ravenscroft occupied the corner seat by the window. Next to him a young couple were busily engaged in looking fondly at each other, and talking in occasional whispers. Next to them a lady, dressed entirely in black, evidently a widow, a veil covering her face, was engaged in some fine needle point. In the seat opposite him a large elderly lady sat looking out at the passing scenery, her hands neatly folded before her in her lap. Next to her a young boy was reading a book, accompanied by a middle aged woman who Ravenscroft concluded was either his nurse or his mother. In the opposite corner of the carriage an elderly grey haired gentleman was deeply intent on reading his newspaper and in occasionally writing down items in his note book.
Ravenscroft closed his eyes. There seemed little to engage his attention in regard to his fellow travellers. As he listened to the sound of the train running over the tracks, he found his mind returning to the events of earlier that week. If only he had been quicker he would have caught the killer, and he would have been commended for his endeavour by his colleagues. But instead his wretched cough had slowed him down yet again, and the opportunity had been lost.
He felt himself gradually falling into a light sleep, where the sounds of the train, the occasional whisperings of the young couple, and the turning of pages, seemed to mingle with the noises of running feet, laughter and his own shortness of breath.
‘Oxford!’
He awoke with a start to see that the train had stopped, and that several of his travelling companions — the young couple, the elderly lady, the boy and his guardian — were endeavouring to leave the compartment. Ravenscroft assisted the lady who had sat opposite him with her case onto the platform, and then settled down once more to read the remaining pages of his newspaper.
As the train began to pull out of the station, the door of the compartment was suddenly flung open.
‘Begging your pardon for the intrusion lady and gentlemen, I thought I was going to miss train.’
The new arrival was a young man of around twenty years of age, with a healthy red face complexion and outgoing manner.
‘No intrusion I assure you,’ ventured Ravenscroft turning over the pages of his newspaper.
The young man smiled and began to reach into his pocket of his jacket, from where he produced a small packet covered in brown paper.
‘Weather looks set fair for the next few days,’ said the new arrival untying the string on his parcel.
‘I would hope so,’ replied Ravenscroft turning away and looking out of the window.
‘Be bound for Malvern I would say.’
‘How on earth do you — ’ began Ravenscroft.
‘We gets lots of visitors on this train who are going to Malvern. Water cure that’s what they go for. Think the water and all that fresh air will do them good.’ The young man began eating one of the large sandwiches which he had removed from his packet.