Murder of a Dead Man (A Chance Inquiry Book 4)

Chapter 19

Mr. Ratcliffe possessed a well-to-do property. The grounds were scrupulously maintained with tight edgings and conformed hedges. The house was of moderate size; no ivy was allowed to grow up the sides and the numerous windows sparkled cleanly in the morning light. All in all, it was a handsome, wealthy estate. James had learned Mr. Ratcliffe was a banker. Now he saw he was a prosperous banker.

The large entry hall had niches in the walls with statuary of male nudes; many, copies of famous Roman and Greek pieces. Lining the stairway were cupids. James exchanged glances with Mr. Ramsay as they walked across the hall.

Ratcliffe’s butler showed them into a shadowed library toward the back of the house. The butler went to the long, draped windows at the far end of the room and pushed open the dark-burgundy velvet drapes to let some morning light into the room. Smaller statues stood on pedestals in all corners of the room, and a bronze statue took pride of place on the corner of the desk.

“The master will see you shortly,” the butler said before bowing and closing the door behind him.

“So, the posturing begins,” James said softly as they sat down in front of the desk.

Mr. Ramsay smiled and crossed one lanky leg over the other, his hands clasped about his knee.

When the door opened to admit Mr. Ratcliffe, James and Mr. Ramsay rose.

“Gentlemen,” Mr. Ratcliffe said, nodding to them as he went around the desk, running a hand across the arse of the statue on the desk before he sat. “Sir James, your note yesterday said you were sent up here by Mrs. Montgomery to understand all the circumstances regarding Mr. Montgomery’s death, but I see you here with Mr. Ramsay.”

His tone of voice was polite yet held an edge of irritation.

“I met Mr. Ramsay for the first time last night at the inn. He informed me of his intention to visit you as well. We thought it might be more convenient for you if we came together,” James explained easily.

Mr. Ratcliffe nodded. “I am a busy man, so I accept that—but, Mr. Ramsay, why are you here?” he asked.

“Fer Mr. Montgomery’s will,” he said. “He made a new will last year.”

Mr. Ratcliffe waived a hand dismissively. “I know. Malcolm told me. Drawn up in an insane asylum. No court will honor a document with lunatics as witnesses. The document we made up when old Mr. Montgomery revised his will, will stand. Besides, it’s already been executed,” he said with a deprecating laugh.

“Nay, ah think not,” said Mr. Ramsay. He uncrossed his legs and looked earnestly at Mr. Ratcliffe. “That’s why ah come ta talk ta you. He weren’t dead and we knew that. What we executed were ol’ Mr. Montgomery’s will. Ah checked. Malcolm’s is not filed. At the time it were the same as his father so it weren’t an issue. Now it is.”

Ratcliffe frowned. Then he harrumphed. He leaned back in his chair. “No matter the witnesses were all lunatics.”

“Nay, ya cannae say that,” disagreed Mr. Ramsay. “Miss Hammond and Mrs. Worcham were amongst the witnesses.”

Ratcliffe laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t say Mrs. Worcham is totally sane, look at all those wigs she dons. And Miss Hammond, a servant? I don’t even know if she can read!”

“Excuse me, gentlemen, for interrupting. I am confused,” said James. “I am not conversant with either will. Why does it matter which version of the will? What changes did Mr. Montgomery make that would be objectionable to you, Mr. Ratcliffe? He still leaves everything to his wife and children, is that not correct?”

Mr. Ramsay turned to James. “Ye be correct, Sir James. Essentially the wills be the same. In the new will, Mrs. Montgomery has more of a say with regards to her funds, but the biggest change is in the namin’ of the executor and guardian. Currently, it be Mr. Ratcliffe. In the new will, Malcom named the Earl of Soothcoor as executor and guardian. And had mi write in the will an unusual request that if the earl be unwed at the time of Mr. Montgomery’s death, that he marry his widow.”

“That won’t save his neck from the noose!” exclaimed Mr. Ratcliffe.

“You are sure of your accusations of murder against Soothcoor?” James asked.

“He had motive and opportunity,” Ratcliffe said flatly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“His motive?” queried Mr. Ramsay.

“That he wanted to marry Mrs. Montgomery, of course.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Ratcliffe,” Mr. Ramsay said, sitting straighter. “Before the earl arrived and met with Malcolm, ah met with Malcolm and he sent me ta Scotland with papers ta petition for a divorce. He told Soothcoor that. There goes yur motive.”

James looked down at his hands, careful to keep his face neutral. Ramsay was gambling that Mr. Ratcliffe didn’t know Mrs. Montgomery was enceinte.

“I understand Mr. Montgomery died by drowning,” James said carefully. “Can we be certain he didn’t commit suicide?”

“Impossible,” snapped Ratcliffe.

“Were there any signs of struggle on him? I would have thought that the Archie personality I’ve heard about would have fought back,”

Ratcliffe snorted. “There are no such things as other personalities, that has always been Malcolm acting.”

“How do you know that? Is that Dr. Worcham’s medical diagnosis?”

“Ha! Gentlemen, I don’t believe Dr. Worcham is a true medical professional. He is a scammer. He used his wife’s dowry to buy Camden House then set about to make a name for himself in the sanatorium business. It’s a lucrative business with the right clientele. Unfortunately, as his banker, I know he is stretched thin. He took on too many non-paying customers, like that girl who died last year. It’s cheating his investors and draining him dry.”

“If you thought him a charlatan, why was Mr. Montgomery staying there?” James asked.

“Don’t get me wrong, Camden House has its purposes. It was—and can be again—a good investment. It’s just when Dr. Worcham takes himself too seriously and gives services away, it’s value decreases. That’s why I arranged for Camden House to have a superintendent, someone to rein in expenses and report back to me on what happens at the sanatorium. Dr. Worcham didn’t dare object.”

“Are you one of the investors?”

“I put the investment package together.”

“And, no doubt, recommended Camden House to Mr. Montgomery Senior when you heard Malcolm was at Autumnvale and wanted to leave that facility.”

“Yes,” he drawled, obviously pleased with himself. “Malcolm didn’t know I lived so close when he agreed to come here. He thought Autumnvale was too close to his father and his family. He didn’t want visitors.”

“He wouldna come here if he knew you were close,” Mr. Ramsay said dismissively.

“No doubt.” Mr. Ratcliffe smirked.

The library door opened. “Boyd—Oh, excuse me, I didn’t know you had company,” said a short, gently graying blonde woman from the doorway.

James and Mr. Ramsay stood up.

“It’s all right Karen, this is Sir James Branstoke, and you know Cameron Ramsay, don’t you?” he said as he walked around the desk to his wife’s side.

“Yes, I do. And nice to meet you, Sir James,” the woman said briefly, scarcely sparing them a glance before turning back to her husband. “Boyd, I just wanted to tell you that the new statue you ordered has arrived and the carter wants to know where it goes,” she said, apologetically.

“Excellent!” Mr. Ratcliffe said, rubbing his hands together. “We are finished here, aren’t we gentlemen?” he asked, walking dismissively past them toward the door.

“Yes,” James said. “Thank you for your time.”

“Pleasure, pleasure. Give my best to Mrs. Montgomery. Must see to my new treasure,” he said, striding out the door.

“I’m sorry gentlemen.” Mrs. Ratcliffe twisted her hands together. She was an attractive, though timid older woman. “He has been waiting for this new statue for a week now,” she explained. “He loves his statues. He says there is something about the feel of the smooth marble under his hand he can’t get enough of. He likes to caress them while he’s thinking,” she said. “It helps with his concentration.”

James and Mr. Ramsay collected their hats, gloves, and greatcoats from a footman in the hall. They said their adieus to the obviously nervous woman as they went out the door. Outside, they saw a coatless Mr. Ratcliffe giving orders to the carter as he uncarted the statue. As the wood enclosure, and then the canvas tarp fell away from the statue, they could see that the statue was another cupid.

Mr. Ramsay drew in a deep breath. James looked at him. The man shook his head, his lips compressed in a tight line.

They got in their coach and started back to The New Bell Inn.

“That new statue,” Mr. Ramsay said after a moment. “It looks like Malcolm.” He shuddered. “Malcolm as a cupid. Why?”

“I’m beginning to have an idea,” James said grimly, “and it would explain a lot. We should pay a visit on the magistrate.”