THE APOTHECARY’S DAUGHTER an absolutely gripping crime thriller that will take your breath away

by Jane Adams

  Martha Randall found solace in good works and making her worth known all over the village, interfering and organizing. The children often found their way to Kitty’s house. She was mildly surprised to find that only the boy, Samuel, could read and write. Little Hope could barely recognize her letters. They were curious about her simples and her medicines, about her books and the notes she made concerning the sickness she attended. Informally at first, then with more design, she began to teach them. An hour every day and more on Saturdays when they joined the other village children in her little class.

  Samuel tried hard but struggled and sometimes Kitty had to fight to keep his interest, but Hope was genuinely bright. She absorbed knowledge and craved learning as though it were a drug. Even Edward Randall was impressed. He told Kitty so one Sunday after service. Hope had tried to figure one of the psalms and had most of the words.

  ‘We have neglected her learning, I fear, Mistress Hallam,’ he said. ‘I think that we should give it more attention. It is right and proper that the child should read the Holy Book.’

  ‘There are many things that she could usefully study,’ Kitty suggested. ‘Both of your children are eager to learn.’

  ‘Perhaps so,’ Randall said. He looked distractedly over her shoulder and frowned. There seemed a little too much haste in his next words. ‘But I fear there may be such a thing as too much learning, mistress. From that may come the sin of pride.’

  He turned to speak to someone else leaving her surprised at the sharpness in his voice. She turned and looked behind her. Martha Randall stood there, her face like thunder.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  In early December, Ray read in Jordan’s diaries, Matthew’s nephew had just returned from London.

  The King’s men tried to enter there on the last day of November, marching into the city through Brentford at the west of London and, Thomas tells me, they got no further. The Earl of Essex brought the trained bands to block the way. They did outnumber the King’s men by two to one and rather than confront them in the streets the King drew his men back and they now reside at Oxford where it is supposed that they will spend the winter.

  ‘What are “trained bands”, Sarah?’

  ‘What?’ She glanced at the reference. ‘Oh, sort of part-time soldiers. A lot of them were just apprentice boys, pretty much untrained really.’

  ‘But they drove the Royalist army back at Brentford.’

  ‘Sheer weight of numbers,’ Sarah commented. ‘And it’s going to be hard to march straight through any town when its inhabitants don’t want you there and every man jack of them is prepared to fight. Charles probably figured it wasn’t worth the trouble.’

  Ray nodded, then he gathered up his things and reached for his jacket, which was hanging on the back of the chair.

  ‘And where are you off to?’

  ‘I’m going to see an old colleague. I’ve been thinking about it all morning, now I’m going to do it.’

  ‘I thought George Mahoney told you to hold off?’

  ‘I’m going to see an old colleague, that’s all.’

  Sarah’s look told him she believed none of it.

  ‘OK, OK, so I can’t leave well alone. I always was an impatient sod.’

  ‘You must be getting better,’ Sarah commented. ‘Look, drop by my place later and we’ll have dinner together.’

  ‘Sounds good.’ He kissed her, much to the amusement of the records office staff, then took off before he could change his mind.

  * * *

  The colleague he wanted to see was his superintendent, a man Ray had worked under for the past nine years. The welcome he got was warm, but when Ray told him about the clipping, Superintendent Walters was not forthcoming.

  ‘I’ve no idea who would have sent you this or why they think Frank Jones might be the man who assaulted you. In fact I can’t tell you much more. They fished this stiff out of the canal, took a couple of days to figure out who he was and as far as I know the jury’s still out on whether he fell or was pushed.’

  ‘Which way are the odds going?’

  ‘On it being a straightforward fall. He’d been drinking, the towpath’s muddy. Slips, in he goes and clouts his head on the way down.’

  ‘Is the inquiry . . . ?’

  ‘Ongoing. You know the score. If anything else comes up then it’ll warrant more attention. Meantime, the man slipped and fell and now he’s dead. It happens.’

  Ray nodded, his mind working overtime. ‘Why did it take so long to identify him?’ he asked.

  ‘I understand he didn’t have much on him. Keys, loose change.’

  ‘No wallet?’

  ‘To be honest, Ray, I don’t recall. We didn’t deal with it here at Central. It was over by the marina, that’s West Desk, not us. You know that.’

  ‘And there was no suggestion of a connection, either to me or Guy Halshaw?’

  ‘Not that I know. You’d have to ask Halshaw.’

  ‘He still here? I thought he was on the move. Promotion.’

  Superintendent Walters nodded. ‘Few months back. He’s a DCI now, surprised you haven’t heard from him.’

  Ray shrugged and got up, ready to go.

  ‘You’ve got another medical review in about a month, I understand.’

  ‘Surprised you remember,’ Ray said.

  ‘I do keep in touch with events. Have you made any decision yet?’

  Ray shook his head, not wanting to talk about Mahoney and the possibilities that were emerging. ‘Have to see what the doc says. Take it from there, but I doubt I’ll be back.’

  Walters nodded. ‘Probably for the best,’ he said. ‘You know we’ll do all we can for you retirement-wise. Put a decent package together.’

  ‘Good of you. Anyway, I’ll be in touch.’ He noted with mild amusement that Walters glanced uncomfortably at his scars and didn’t even offer to shake his hand.

  * * *

  When Ray arrived at Sarah’s she was busy cooking and looked surprisingly in control.

  ‘I thought you were a disaster in the kitchen.’

  ‘Oh, I am, but even I can manage pasta if I buy the sauce and any fool can defrost dessert.’

  Ray laughed and gave her the wine he had bought. ‘Will it go with what you’re cooking?’

  ‘Of course it will.’ She smiled. ‘Actually, there’s beer in the fridge if you’d rather.’

  He took two bottles from the fridge and found the opener, drank his straight from the bottle but sorted through the cupboards for a glass for Sarah.

  ‘So, how did it go, this visit to an old colleague?’

  ‘I can’t say it got me very far. The official line is that Frank Jones probably fell. Apparently he’d been drinking and it’s perfectly possible that he slipped.’

  ‘So why is someone trying to make you think otherwise?’ She laughed. ‘I think we keep asking that one.’

  ‘I’m sure we do. I don’t know, Sarah, but I got the distinct feeling that I was being sidelined. Told it was no longer any of my business. My own fault, I suppose. I had enough visits when I was first in hospital, people wishing me well, but I suppose I didn’t make the effort to keep the contacts going.’

  ‘And why do you think that was?’

  He shook his head. ‘I think I’d just had enough,’ he said. ‘It suddenly occurred to me that there was no one I was really close to. Oh, I mean, there were people I’d worked with for years. Would trust absolutely in a tight corner. Some of them I drank with off duty, but no one I was really close to.’

  ‘Except George Mahoney?’

  Ray looked surprised. ‘George? God no, we can go months and never even talk on the phone.’

  ‘That might be so,’ Sarah argued. ‘But when you do talk there may as well have been no gap in between. I always think that’s a good test of friendship. And you must trust him, he’s the only one of your colleagues you’d dream of telling about Kitty.’

  Ray nearly choked on his beer with laughing. ‘God,’ he said, �
��you can just think what my old super’d say if he knew I was chasing ghosts.’

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Kitty closed her eyes and allowed the pages to fall between her hands. Then let her finger trail over the open page, until she was certain that the answer would be there. Then she opened her eyes and read the verse her finger rested upon.

  ‘He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.’

  Kitty sighed. Comforting, she thought, but, as always, so obscure. She would have to think about the message the verse held for her.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Kitty jumped. She had been so absorbed that she had not heard Hope enter by the kitchen door.

  ‘Hope! What on earth are you doing here? Do you not know how late it is?’

  Hope shrugged. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘But no one will notice I am gone. They think I’m sleeping.’

  ‘And so you should be.’ Kitty looked closely at the girl’s pinched face. Her eyes were red as though she had been crying. ‘What is it, sweetheart? What is wrong?’

  Hope flopped down into one of Kitty’s chairs. ‘They’re arguing again,’ she said. ‘They’ve been arguing all day and Samuel and I can do nothing to please them.’

  Kitty knelt by the chair and gathered the child into her arms. ‘I doubt they are angry with you,’ she said. ‘Sometimes, when adults are angry, they can find nothing right with anyone.’

  For a few minutes, Hope allowed herself to be comforted. Then she pulled away and looked over at Kitty’s Bible. ‘What were you doing when I came in?’ she asked.

  Kitty sighed. ‘A foolish thing, I suppose. Sometimes, when I need comfort or advice, I close my eyes and let the Bible fall open where it may. Then I look to see what inspiration it has to offer.’

  Hope looked thoughtful. ‘Do you think my father could do that when he is worried or in need?’ she asked. ‘Sometimes, I think he needs advice.’

  Kitty shook her head. ‘I doubt your father would approve,’ she said. ‘But I have always felt that if the Bible is the word of God, then it is only God’s word that I am reading and God’s voice helping and advising me.’

  ‘Could I try it?’ Hope asked her.

  ‘I don’t know, sweetheart. I am certain that your father would not like you to do it. Your mother either.’

  Hope scowled. ‘They like of nothing,’ she said.

  ‘Hope, that isn’t fair. Your parents want only what is best for you.’

  Hope looked at her in open disbelief and Kitty knew in her heart that her words sounded hollow.

  ‘Come,’ she said. ‘We must get you home before someone notices that you are gone and has the entire village out searching.’

  Reluctantly, the girl got to her feet and waited for Kitty to fetch her cloak.

  ‘Can I come tomorrow?’ she asked.

  ‘Tomorrow, yes. But in the day, and if your mother has nothing she needs you to do. And promise me, sweetheart, no more creeping out at night.’

  Hope mumbled something that might have been a promise and Kitty felt that she could push no further. The Randalls’ arguments had become famous in a village where nothing passed without every inhabitant knowing of it. Martha Randall had little interest in her children, village gossip said. She shouted at the servants even when nothing wrong could be found to berate them for. She preached more piety even than her husband and believed in such strictness in the holy law, and in all other things that no one knew how to fulfil her wishes.

  Martha Randall, everyone agreed, was a scold who should be put more firmly in her place, though Randall himself got little sympathy. It was the children that Kitty’s heart went out to. Caught in the middle of exacting parents — though Kitty knew that Randall loved them deeply, for all that he was so strict — with no escape from the daily disapproval, Kitty doubted it would be the last of Hope’s nocturnal visits to her home.

  * * *

  Christmas was a few weeks past and Kitty had received a letter from the Reverend Jordan telling of the latest events in Leicester. He was still living with his family at Belgrave, but there was talk of demolishing the houses on the outskirts of the city and withdrawing the entire population within the city walls. Matthew was far from happy with the prospect.

  It seems that we have moved into the midst of trouble, the town being of strategic importance to both sides. At this time the Parliamentary forces occupy the town and the mayor has felt obliged to write to the high sheriff, Sir Henry Hastings, to assure him that the town and corporation have done nothing to encourage this. The King’s men are garrisoned still at Ashby and at Belvoir. I cannot think that he will allow the town to remain long in other hands.

  Kitty worried so much about Matthew Jordan and his family and wished him back in the village where she felt that he would be safe. The truth was she missed him too. His gentleness and concern and his friendship.

  ‘Is it grave news, Mistress Hallam?’

  Edward Randall’s children were sitting at her kitchen table copying a text she had prepared for them.

  ‘It is from a friend, Samuel,’ she told him. ‘He is concerned about the war.’

  ‘Our father says it is a righteous conflict,’ Samuel said. ‘Do you think so, mistress?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she told him. ‘I find it hard to believe that anything that can split families and kill young men can be a good thing.’

  Hope was frowning over her copying. ‘Our mother has our father read her letters to her,’ she said. ‘She finds it easier. She can reckon and write the household ledgers but she does not like to read.’

  ‘And when she does the accounts our father says he cannot read them and has them all to do again,’ Samuel added.

  Hope giggled and Kitty reproved them both for such disrespect. ‘Many women cannot read at all, Samuel, and many men cannot do it well. There is nothing to be shamed in that. I was lucky, my father taught me more than adequately. Your mother was perhaps not so fortunate.’

  They were in the kitchen and had not heard Martha enter by the front door. ‘I am glad you think me worthy of your pity, mistress, though I think it will be you who craves pity when God judges your pride.’

  ‘Mistress Randall! Believe me, I meant no offence.’

  But Martha Randall had heard enough and brushed Kitty’s attempted protest aside. ‘I will not hear you, mistress. I had come to thank you for your work with my children but to tell you that you need do no more. It seems I have chosen my moment well. Their father will hear what you say of me behind my back.’

  ‘Believe me, no offence was meant.’ Then, realizing what else Martha Randall had said, ‘I don’t understand. You say that I have done enough? Am I to understand—’

  ‘That my children will come for no more lessons. Their father considers that Hope knows plenty already. Too much it seems, since she seeks to correct her elders. And Samuel will be leaving a week from now to share a tutor with his cousins.’

  ‘I see,’ Kitty managed to say. ‘Of course, I will abide by your wishes, but truly I meant no offence.’ She looked at the woman’s stony face and her heart sank but she knew that she must try again. ‘Hope is learning so fast,’ Kitty said. ‘It is wonderful that Samuel goes to share a tutor, he speaks often of his cousins and I know he will take pleasure in being with them.’

  ‘I am relieved to know that you approve my plans. For my own children.’

  ‘But Hope,’ Kitty said, determined to plough on, though she knew the situation was already ruined, ‘Hope has such a quick grasp of all things. It seems wasteful to end her lessons so soon.’

  ‘Wasteful, Mistress Hallam?’

  Kitty knew that she had made a mess of things. She searched desperately to find the right words. ‘My father believed that such talent as a quick mind and skill at learning were God-given and should be nurtured.’

  The woman flinched. ‘And your father presumes to know what God should wish for? Is he a minister, Miss Hallam?’r />
  ‘You know that he is not.’

  ‘Then what you claim comes near to blasphemy. Hope knows enough learning for any woman to take to her husband and already she has far too much will. And I assure you,’ she warned again, ‘their father will hear from my own lips, and from theirs, how you speak of their mother when you think there is no one to hear. How you encourage them to speak of me.’

  ‘I’ve done no wrong,’ she tried again, but the woman was hustling the children out of the door. She’s jealous, Kitty thought suddenly. Oh Lord, she thinks I seek to take her place.

  After they were gone, Kitty crossed the room and barred the door, wanting no more interruptions. Suddenly she felt so very tired. She went upstairs and lay down upon her bed, staring out through the window at the grey sky and the church spire and the woods beyond and knew that if she were honest the woman’s accusations, in part at least, were true. How often had she wished the children were her own? Allowed herself in idle moments to imagine what it would be like to have a husband and a family and a proper place in this society that only tolerated her because she was useful, but in which she had no authority or status.

  She thought of her own childhood. Her mother had died when she was very small, but her father had been a loving and indulgent man. She had known what it was to be cherished, and from her earliest teens, even before she had fully understood, had known what it was to be desired. There had been games that she had played with her friends, trying to guess whom their husbands might be. Songs and chants to be said as they pulled the petals from daisies in the fields. She got up and crossed to the mirror, wiping away the tears. Her cap had come loose as she lay on the bed and she pulled it off, freed her hair and combed it through ready to pin it back again.

  Kitty and her friends, they would pick flowers and pull the petals one by one chanting possibilities.