‘Oh, I will go back to the dark alleyways of Whitechapel, where no doubt I will endeavour to apprehend a few more criminals, whilst attempting to keep as far away as possible from my superiors,’ laughed Ravenscroft boarding the train.
‘Well sir, if you should ever find yourself in Malvern again, you will always find a warm welcome awaits you in Westminster Road,’ said Crabb slamming the door of the compartment to, as the guard blew his whistle.
‘Thank you Tom. I will certainly remember,’ said Ravenscroft leaning out of the carriage window, as the train started to move forwards.
‘And don’t forget sir, there is always a certain young lady in Ledbury, who would no doubt be more than pleased to see you, should you find yourself in the neighbourhood,’ shouted Crabb.
‘I won’t forget,’ smiled Ravenscroft, waving his hand at the ever decreasing figure of Crabb, as the train drew away from Great Malvern Station.
EPILOGUE — LONDON 1887
‘London! Paddington! All Change!’
Ravenscroft awoke with a start — and realised that he had been asleep since the train had left Oxford.
His journey back to the capital had been uneventful, and as he had sat back in his seat, he had been surprised by how tired he had now become. Malvern had already become like a distant dream to him, so much so, that for a moment he had begun to wonder whether he had really been there at all. Perhaps Pitzer, Sommersby, Gladwyn and the old beggar were still alive, and Lambert still practicing in Grange-Over-Sands? Perhaps Lucy Armitage still sat in the tiny cottage in Ledbury, and her brother continued to look after the welfare of the inmates of Old Lechmere’s Almshouses? Perhaps the events of the previous two weeks were still waiting to unfold, and he had yet to encounter the mysterious woman in black? But now, as people began to leave the train, he knew that the great City of London would be seeking to encompass him once more.
He stepped out onto the platform. After the peace and quiet of Malvern, the noise and bustle of the crowded terminus came as a rude shock to his system.
Carrying his suitcase in one hand, and his newspaper in the other, he made his way along the platform, rubbing shoulders with the other passengers, who were all busily engaged in going in the same direction. The reality of his present situation began to break suddenly over him, and he felt a sickly emptiness in the pit of his stomach. He knew he would now attempt to secure a cab from outside the station; a cab which would take him back to the grey dismal lodgings where he resided, overlooking the tree lined square in an unfashionable suburb of the capital. He knew that in the morning he would climb the stairs at the Yard, where he would report for duty. No doubt his superior would again reprimand him, before sending him back onto the streets — they were too short of officers to dismiss him from the force! Then the pattern of his life would be resumed, as it had before, and he would again seek out the vagrants, pickpockets and thieves from the darkened alleyways and dens of Whitechapel.
He made his way out of the station and onto the forecourt, where a large number of cabs stood waiting in the rain to transport the new arrivals to all four corners of the metropolis. He joined the line of prospective customers, as it shuffled forwards.
‘Where to Madam?’ shouted out one of cabmen.
‘Whitechapel!’ came back the reply.
The sound of the woman’s voice bought Ravenscroft to a sudden standstill, and he felt a cold shiver run down his spine.
Surely not? It could not be possible?
He looked upwards and saw a familiar, black veiled, figure climbing into the cab.
He pushed forwards, crying out ‘Mrs. Kelly!’ — but before he could reach the rank, the driver had cracked his whip, and the vehicle had driven away at high speed.
Ravenscroft stood watching the cab as it reached the end of the road — and for a brief moment thought its occupant had turned in his direction, and had raised her hand in a form of recognition — before it turned the corner and disappeared from view.
The events of the past few days seemed suddenly to crowd in on him. As the line of waiting customers surged forwards, he could feel his lungs tightening and his brow becoming wet with perspiration.
‘Where to Governor?’
‘I’m sorry — ’ he mumbled, in a voice that seemed not like his own.
‘Where do you want to go to?’ shouted the cab driver again, in an irritable manner.
‘Nowhere,’ replied Ravenscroft.
‘Then why are you wasting my time governor?’
‘I don’t know. I’m sorry,’ he said walking away, hearing the driver cursing him from behind.
Ravenscroft made his way back into the station, and after a moment’s thought, strode toward the ticket office.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ asked the clerk.
‘When is the next train to Ledbury?’ asked Ravenscroft.
‘In about fifteen minutes, sir. Would you like a single, or a return?’
Ravenscroft thought for a moment.
‘A single, please. That will be fine. A single to Ledbury.’