Ravenscroft said hesitantly. As his eyes adjusted to the scene, he noticed that the table was covered with dirty plates and old newspapers. The room had the air of decay and dampness about it.
âYouâve found her,â replied the hostile voice.
âMrs Joshua Leewood,â corrected Ravenscroft. He had expected Leewoodâs wife to have been much younger in years.
âJoshua is my son,â coughed the old woman, drawing her shawl tightly around her shoulders and giving Ravenscroft a cold stare.
âI was given to understand that your sonâs family lived here,â said Ravenscroft, taking out a handkerchief from his overcoat pocket and bringing it to his nose in an attempt to block out the foul smell that was being emitted from the kitchen sink.
âHis wife left two years ago, ran off with a tinker, after babby had died of the pox.â
âIâm sorry.â
âNothing to be sorry about; he were better out of it.â
âWhat happened to the other children?â
âDonât know where they went. Somewhere in Ledbury,â replied the old woman, descending into a set of more prolonged coughs.
Something cold brushed against Ravenscroftâs leg. He looked down quickly and was relieved to find it was only a black and white cat of a hungry, bedraggled appearance. âWhere is your son, Mrs Leewood?â asked Ravenscroft, recovering his composure but nevertheless anxious to keep his distance from the figure in the armchair.
The old woman laughed. âYou of all people should know that!â
âHereford gaol?â
Leewoodâs mother said nothing as she turned her face away towards the empty hearth. Ravenscroft looked down once more at the cat, who hissed loudly at him. âI understand that your son protested his innocence when he was sent down?â he said, finally breaking the silence.
âWhat do you want to know for? You going to help him then?â sneered the woman.
âNo. I cannot change what has happened in the past.â
âThought as much,â muttered the old woman, before resuming her coughing.
âYou have heard that Mr Nathaniel Montacute is dead? He was the magistrate who sentenced your son.â
âI know who he was.â Ravenscroft thought he could detect a mixture of resignation and bitterness in her voice.
An old clock on the mantelpiece chimed twelve, and he counted the strikes to himself. Neither he nor the old woman spoke.
The cat hissed loudly again at Ravenscroft, before crossing over to the door.
âDid your son ever say anything about Mr Montacute?â
âHow do I know!â
The cat began to scratch the door in an angry fashion.
âCat!â shouted the old woman.
Ravenscroft opened the door, and the animal gave him a venomous look before it quit the room. âDo you visit your son in prison?â he said, returning to the table.
âHow can I afford the fare to Hereford?â laughed the old woman.
âDoes your son write to you?â asked Ravenscroft, knowing that his line of questioning was going nowhere.
âCanât read nor write, nor can Joshua,â coughed the woman.
âShould your son return in the near futureââ began Ravenscroft.
âMy son is still in gaol, where he has no cause to be!â shouted out the old woman, before being convulsed by a fit of coughing.
âCan I get you anything?â he offered, knowing that he could do little to relieve her suffering.
The woman made an angry gesture with her arm, indicating that Ravenscroft should leave.
âPerhaps I could ask Doctor Andrews to call upon you?â
âHow do you expect me to be able to pay for some old quack?â growled the old woman.
âIâll pay for Doctor Andrews to call on you, and to give you something for that cough.â
âNothing can cure me once the fluck has taken hold. Save your money â and get out!â
âIâm
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