The Pershore Poisoners Read Free Page A

me.
15 August
    Today was the first day that I have ventured out since my illness. We walked down to the river and sat in the little park there enjoying the warm sunshine and admiring the views.
18 August
    I asked Charles this morning why we have not entertained. Surely there must be some friends of his he would care to invite for dinner one evening? Charles replied that all his friends were away, at present, in the country, but that he would invite them next month upon their return. It is certainly strange that no one ever calls upon us.
25 August
    Have not been able to write for several days due to the return of my illness – suffered acute pains and was violently sick again. Charles said he would move into the spare bedroom, so that I might obtain as much rest as possible. My darling is most attentive. Upon his return from the city in the evenings, he insists on making some soup or gruel and bringing it up to the bedroom, and then reads to me whilst I consume the liquid. I must confess however that I have little appetite.
1 September
    What is wrong with me? I can hardly write these words, I am so weak. The medicine I take seems to do little good. I cannot eat any food, and when I manage to drink some soup I am only sick again. I have not been out of the housefor nearly two weeks now. What is wrong with me? I am becoming such a burden to Charles. Would he have married me if he had known that I would have become so ill?
4 September
    No better. I feel so ill. Why is it that I am so ill? Why has God deprived me of my happiness?
5 September
    I feel the end is coming. Why does Charles insist that I drink the soup when I am so unwell?
7 September
    God help me. Charles has poisoned me. There is no escape.
    ‘That is the last entry, sir,’ said the constable closing the diary.
    ‘Oh my God!’ exclaimed Quinton burying his face in his hands.
    ‘I believe your wife bought a sizeable inheritance to your marriage, sir, if I am not mistaken?’ said Robertson leaning forwards and staring directly at his suspect.
    ‘That is no concern of yours. I tell you I am innocent,’ pleaded Quinton looking at the two policemen. ‘Why don’t you believe me?’
    ‘That’s as may be, sir. Constable, will you read the last entry again, if you please.’
    ‘Yes sir – “God help me. Charles has poisoned me. There is no escape”,’ replied the constable. ‘The hand is very shaky, sir.’
    ‘“God help me. Charles has poisoned me. There is no escape”,’ repeated Robertson. ‘Well Captain Quinton, I think that is all the proof we need. I would say that any jury in the land would convict you on that evidence. You will certainly hang, Captain Quinton – and very slowly if there is any justicein this world. Yes, you will hang very well indeed. Would you not agree, constable?’
    ‘It would seem so, sir.’
    ‘Take the prisoner away, and – oh Ravenscroft, see that this is all kept quiet for the time being.’
    ‘Yes sir.’

CHAPTER ONE
LEDBURY, SEPTEMBER 1890
    ‘What is this, my dear?’ asked Ravenscroft looking over his spectacles at the bowl of thick, dark liquid which lay before him on the dinner table.
    ‘Brown Windsor soup,’ replied Lucy.
    ‘I see.’
    ‘You don’t like it?’
    ‘No … er … it’s just that—’
    ‘I can tell that you don’t approve.’
    ‘No, it’s just that it is rather on the thick side,’ said Ravenscroft submerging his spoon once again into the brown mixture.
    ‘I think it is quite nice,’ smiled Lucy after taking another mouthful.
    ‘I expect that I shall probably grow to like it.’
    ‘I think Susan has done rather well. I believe that it is a favourite of Queen Victoria.’
    ‘Ah well, if it is good enough for Queen Victoria, then I am sure that it is certainly good enough for us,’ smiled Ravenscroft before bringing the spoon to his mouth.
    ‘There is no need for frivolity, Samuel. I can tell you do not like it. It does have some of the Madeira in it,’ said Lucy trying to