Death in the West Wind

by Deryn Lake

  “I am sorry to tell you that there is someone aboard,” he said grimly.

  They stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Just that. There’s a girl lying on the figurehead.”

  “What’s she doing there?”

  “Nothing,” John answered sternly.

  They gaped at him, open-mouthed, clearly not comprehending a word he was saying. “Who is she?” one of them asked eventually.

  “Her name is Juliana van Guylder,” the Apothecary replied slowly, “and I regret to have to inform you that she is quite, quite dead.”

  3

  Rather than return down the perilously swaying rope, John decided to dive from the schooner’s rail, a daunting prospect in itself but quite certainly the lesser of the two evils. In this way he swam ashore to find Emilia, now accompanied by Irish Tom, waiting for him with obvious anticipation.

  “John, is that ship deserted?” his bride asked eagerly. “I watched you go aboard through the telescope but there seemed no sign of life. Was there anybody there?”

  He did not answer directly but instead asked another question. “How much could you see?”

  “I had it on maximum magnification but some of the outlines were blurred.”

  “Was the figurehead clear to you?”

  “No. I could see it of course, but not in detail.”

  “That’s as well, then.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  The Apothecary took his wife’s hands in his. “Do you remember remarking that I was a stormy petrel, that trouble followed me around?”

  Emilia looked perturbed. “Yes. Why?”

  “It’s happened. The ship was deserted all right, eerily so, for there was every sign of recent habitation. But draped over the figurehead was a body. And, my darling, I am sorry to say that it was the body of someone we have met.”

  She looked stricken. “Oh God help us! Who?”

  “The wretched Juliana van Guylder.”

  Emilia went very pale. “And to think I did not take to her. I feel guilty.”

  Irish Tom spoke for the first time. “This is a tragic set of circumstances, Sir. What can I do to help?”

  “Take Mrs. Rawlings and our things back to the village. I’ve promised to run on ahead and alert the constable. I should also find a physician. He’ll need to look at the body before it is brought ashore.”

  “Let Tom find the doctor. I am perfectly capable of walking back on my own.”

  “I’ve a better idea.” John ran his eye over the coachman’s Brian Boramha physique. “Let Tom stay here and keep an eye on the schooner. The fishermen are off to quaff ale before they do anything further and we don’t want anybody to go aboard and tamper.”

  The Irishman looked very cheered. “I should enjoy that, Sorrh. There’s nothing I like better than a good mill.” His accent was suddenly very pronounced.

  “Well, let’s hope that won’t be necessary,” John answered, then turned as Emilia tugged at his arm.

  “My dear, how did Juliana die?”

  “I did not examine her body but her face had sustained a terrific beating. It seems to me that she had been most savagely attacked.”

  “Enough to kill her?”

  “I would imagine so, yes.”

  “How horrible. I hope the village constable is up to dealing with such a crime.”

  “He won’t be of course, unless he is very exceptional. I think perhaps a letter to Mr. Fielding might be in order.”

  “But he is in London.”

  “Ah, don’t forget his two Brave Fellows, ready to set out to any part of the kingdom at one quarter of an hour’s notice.”

  “But they wouldn’t come to Devon,” said Emilia, amazed.

  “Would they not! Since Mr. Fielding inaugurated his Flying Runners four years ago in ’55, they have so far visited places as far afield as Windsor, Maidstone, Bristol, Barnet, Faversham, Newark, Maidenhead, Henley, Guildford, Tunbridge Wells and Oswestry, to say nothing of a three day pursuit in Hertfordshire and Bedfordshire.

  My dear girl, if I write at once they could be here in six days.”

  “I shall never,” said Tom stolidly, “get over the pace at which life moves today.”

  “It is indeed,” John answered, “a very sobering thought.”

  The constable, as it turned out, was far more alert than most of his fellow officers of the law. A detested job, unpaid and compulsory, the duty of acting as constable lasted for a year and was so disliked by many citizens that some paid deputies to substitute for them. This had led to the formation of a class of professional deputies, some of whom had held office for a considerable time. As the money paid to them was poor, deputies were usually ignorant, dishonest and extremely inefficient into the bargain. The little village of Sidmouth, however, obviously scorned such individuals and had for its law man a young farmer by the name of William Haycraft. John found him working in his fields and almost felt loath to disturb such honest labour.

  “Mr. Haycraft,” he called out, hurrying up to the five bar gate.

  “Do I know you, Sir?”

  John shook his head. “No, I’ve come about an incident which involves the constable.” William visibly sighed. “Then you’d best come in and tell me about it.”

  Inside the small, cool farmhouse, John sat with a tankard of home-brewed cider and related the entire story, leaving out no detail, even telling the constable of his evening spent in the company of the van Guylder family.

  “So it’s the daughter of the house who you recognised as the dead woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you thought her death not natural?”

  “I did not examine the body. It was neither the time nor the place to do so. But judging by the cuts and bruises on the girl’s face I can only assume that she received a beating at somebody’s hands.”

  “You talk, Sir,” said William, “as if you would be quite capable of scrutinising a corpse. Are you by any chance a doctor?”

  “No, but a member of a closely related profession. I am John Rawlings, an apothecary with a shop in Shug Lane, Piccadilly.”

  “And what might you be doing in this part of the world, may I ask?”

  “I am on holiday here with my new wife, part of that idyllic four weeks known as a honeymoon.”

  “Well, bless you, Sir. Congratulations. And now you have stumbled into this. I hope it hasn’t spoiled things for you.”

  “Not at all. In fact Emilia, my bride, half wondered if something might happen.”

  “How’s that then?”

  It was not easy to say that in the past he had often worked with John Fielding, the celebrated blind magistrate, without sounding full of himself, so the Apothecary kept the explanation as simple and short as he could. But in that he was wrong. William Haycraft positively came to life before his ] eyes, almost sniffing the air in dog-like fashion.

  “Why, even in this remote part we’ve heard of him, Sir. In fact I seek out knowledge of the man. For he be inspirational indeed. To do what he does without use of his eyes is remarkable. As a matter of interest, though most detest the role of constable I quite enjoy it, thinking about the Blind Beak in London and how he deals with wrongdoers.”

  “Then, with your permission, may I send for two of his men to assist you?”

  Clearly William had never heard of the pair of Brave Fellows and his honest eyes widened as the Apothecary explained their function.

  “And you would have enough influence tQ bring them here?” he said eventually.

  “It’s not a question of influence. Anyone can call for them. They are there to serve.”

  “Then I’d be obliged if you would write straightaway, Sir. I can take the letter into

  Topsham myself this evening. It will get to Exeter and the London Mail quicker that way.” He stood up, a true Devonian with broad weathered features, bright eyes and large capable hands.

  “Well, I see that I’ll get no more work done today.” He sighed again. Howe
ver keen he might be to follow in the footsteps of the Blind Beak, it was clearly still an irritant when precious labouring hours were lost. “I must get down to the beach and investigate this deserted ship for myself.” He turned to John. “In all the confusion, you didn’t happen to note its name and port of origin, did you, Sir?”

  The Apothecary nodded. “I did as a matter of fact. She is the Constantia from Christiania, which is, I believe, in the Baltic.”

  “So it’s a foreign crew that’s gone missing.”

  “Is that significant?”

  “Could be. There’s a lot that goes on in these parts. Smuggling and the like. Why, there was piracy at Topsham a mere hundred years ago. Could be that someone abducted the lot of them for ransom.”

  “But why should a Topsham girl be found dead on a Baltic ship?”

  William plucked his ear lobe, a sign that he was thinking. “That is a very good question. Did she come aboard to meet one of the crew? Or was she with some sort of raiding party?”

  “That’s what we have got to find out.”

  “Indeed we must. Now let’s to the beach.”

  “You want me to go with you?”

  “I want you to examine the body, Sir.”

  “But what about the local doctor, surely he should be the one to do so?”

  The constable turned a look of amused affection in John’s direction. “Bless you, Sir, we don’t have one of those. Dr. Hunter rides over from Topsham in his gig weekly. The rest of the time Old Saul sees to people.”

  “Old Saul?”nearest to the beach, had obviously consumed too much ale and spoken freely about their extraordinary find. For when John and William Hay craft returned to the water’s edge a crowd of sightseers had gathered, all of whom resented the fact that a stranger was keeping guard on the vessel. Indeed, abuse was being hurled, to which Irish Tom was responding without inhibition.

  “Enough,” shouted the constable in an enormous voice, and silence actually fell. John considered that William Haycraft must be one of the most effective people to hold this much despised post, and his admiration for the man, already quite high, rose in bounds.

  “Get about your business,” William continued. “There’s nothing to see here and I’ll charge you with loitering if you don’t move on.” He turned to Irish Tom. “And what might you be doing?”

  “He’s my coachman,” the Apothecary put in hastily, “and I asked him to make sure nobody boarded the Constantia.”

  “”Twas a job keeping them away, Sir. They’d have been out there like flies if I hadn’t been forceful. But now you’re here, can I go?”

  “I’d be grateful if you’d find Mrs. Rawlings and tell her I won’t be long. Explain that the constable has asked me to go back aboard as there is no physician to accompany him.”

  “I’ll gladly do that, Sir. And is it in order if I wet me whistle while I’m about it?”

  “Certainly,” answered John, only wishing that he could do likewise.

  * * *

  The sun was just beginning to lower in the sky as they clambered aboard the deserted ship, while the warm west wind had started to freshen a little. Without preliminaries, the two men went straight to the corpse which lay just as John had left it, her hair blowing in the breeze, though this time her sad white arms did not swing quite so freely. John laid his hand on Juliana’s neck and felt that rigor mortis had begun to establish itself.

  “She’s starting to stiffen,” he said to William.

  “What does that mean?”

  “That she’s been dead at least twelve hours, though, of course, the warm weather would most certainly affect the process so it could well be more.”

  “So she was killed — if she was killed — in the early hours of this morning?”

  “As I said, it could have been earlier. Perhaps some time last evening. Now, will you help me turn her?”

  The constable did not flinch but helped lift the fragile body and lay it on its back, gasping as he saw the state of the bruising on the neck and face. Disliking the task, John raised Juliana’s shift above her breasts so that she lay exposed to the two men’s examination. The pale flesh was covered in marks, there were even the weals of a whip to be seen.

  “By Christ,” said William, “whoever did this must swing for it. Did the beating kill her?”

  “I think we can safely presume yes. I imagine that there must be internal injuries which were too severe for her to sustain.”

  “Poor little thing.”

  The Apothecary looked very harsh indeed. “I think there may be more than one little thing involved in this.”

  William gaped. “What do you mean?”

  “When I met her I became utterly convinced that the girl was pregnant.”

  The constable stared at the youthfully flat stomach. “There’s no sign of it.”

  “I did not mean anything advanced. Probably no more than ten to twelve weeks in all.” He bent over the body, running his hands over the wounded abdomen and pressing here and there. “Difficult to be absolutely sure without an autopsy but I am fairly certain that I am right.””A motive for murder perhaps? If the father didn’t want to be involved.”

  “Quite possibly.” John slid his hands lower. “My God, this poor thing has been violently raped. Look at this bruising — and at this.”

  But the constable’s sticking point had been reached. Turning away, he shook his head from side to side. “I can’t, Sir. It’s not decent. No God-fearing creature could do so. Medical men excepted,” he added hastily.

  The Apothecary felt a slight sense of shame. Along with all his kind, he had come to regard the human body as an object of interest and had forgotten the sensitivities of others when it came to examination. Noting to himself the smears of dried semen on Juliana’s thighs, he concealed her privy parts with a swabbing cloth, lying on the deck close to his feet.

  “I’ve covered her up, Mr. Haycraft. But I would like you to look once more at the marks on the rest of the body. When you’re ready.”

  William, somewhat reluctantly, turned back his head. “I’m sorry about that, Sir. It’s just that I felt it would be wrong for me to have gazed at her so.”

  “That’s perfectly understandable. But you must realise that the coroner will want a report and I must note every detail. Now then, observe these.” John pointed to various marks and discolourations on Juliana’s stiffening corpse.

  “Yes, I see them, and savage they are too.”

  “Does anything strike you about them?” With clear reluctance, the constable bent lower. “They are at rather odd angles.”

  “Precisely. It seems to me that the blows are coming from different directions, which would suggest to me that more than one pair of hands delivered them.”

  William looked aghast. “Are you saying that this girl was beaten to death by several people?”

  “Horrible though the prospect is, that is exactly what I mean.”

  The constable’s face went dark. “Get ashore, Mr. Rawlings, and write your letter. The sooner the two Brave Fellows get here the better for all of us. If a mob committed this atrocity, then that mob must be called to account, and the more men we have to help, the better.”

  “But what of the body? We can’t leave it here overnight.”

  “No, indeed. It must be brought ashore and set to rest in a quiet place. Tomorrow she will be taken to the mortuary in Exeter, God rest her soul.”

  “But how do we get her off?”

  “There’s only one way. A smack must come out with a net. Then she must be placed in it and lowered over the side.”

  “I suppose,” said John resignedly, “it means more trips up and down that horrible rope.”

  “I think,” answered William with a half smile, “that the time has come to search for the ship’s ladder.”

  * * *

  It was dusk by the time John got back to The Ship and the place was glowing with candles, an attractive sight from the lane outside. Even more attractive was the si
ght of Emilia within. Dressed simply but effectively for dinner, her golden hair piled on her head and secured with a decorative comb, the Apothecary stood for a moment just looking at her. She smiled at him.

  “Has it been awful?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Sidmouth does not boast its own physician and it fell to my lot to examine the body. So tonight, alas, when we have dined, I must write a report for the coroner while the event is still fresh in my mind, and also a letter to Mr. Fielding which William Haycraft, a really good constable despite all my fears, is taking personally to catch the London Mail.”

  Emilia’s skin was like ivory as she asked, “Where is Juliana now? Not alone on that boat, surely?”

  “In a barn at Cotmaton Hall. The owner is an officer in the Guards, rarely at home, but he is there at the moment and has given his permission.”

  “I will take her flowers,” said John’s bride with determination.

  “I wouldn’t advise it. She’s not a pleasant sight.”

  “It’s the least I can do. I did not like the girl when she was alive, now I must make amends.”

  “Where will you get flowers at this hour of the day?”

  “I shall go out and pick them.”

  “It’s nearly dark.”

  “Then Irish Tom can accompany me and afterwards we can drive out to the Hall. It will occupy the time while you write your report and letter.”

  “Oh, very well,” said John with a sigh, for there was no arguing with that logic. He had a momentary flash of the married life that lay before him, in which Emilia, with clear reasoning, would win every point that she so wished. The Apothecary’s crooked grin burst forth. “You’re not an angel, you’re an imp,” he said, then set to washing in the china bowl in preparation for dinner.

  * * *

  In the event, John — writing faster and more fluently than he had hoped — finished the report of his findings and his letter to Mr. Fielding just as William Haycraft knocked on the door of his bedroom.