Death in the West Wind

by Deryn Lake

  Ahead of them lay the East Gate, in the shadow of which, so enquiries had revealed, were housed the Exeter Free Grammar School and the Blue School, where the sons of the poor were educated. Feeling that his mission was indeed a delicate one, John was eventually shown into the office of the headmaster, where he sat turning his hat in his hands until the door opened behind him.

  A big boisterous fellow with little eyes stood there, puffing and blowing with the exertion of climbing the stairs. Observing John with a narrowed porcine gaze, he demanded, “Are you the constable, Sir?” Startled, the Apothecary rose to his feet. “No, Sir. I am merely a visitor.”

  “Visitor, visitor? Am I expecting one?”

  “I don’t know,” John answered, feeling utterly foolish.

  “No, I’m not, by God. Are you sure you’re not the constable?”

  “Quite sure. I’m an apothecary by trade.”

  “But I didn’t send for one of those. Why have you come?”

  “Hopefully to see a boy, Sir.”

  “Boy? What boy?”

  “Richard van Guylder.”

  The effect of those words was extraordinary, from porcine to wild boar, the teacher’s tiny eyes glinted and he almost seemed to grow tusks.

  “Don’t shilly-shally with me, Sir. You are the constable, now don’t deny it.”

  John thought on his feet. “Why do you want the constable so urgently?”

  “You know why. I told your wife.”

  “I haven’t seen my wife since early this morning,” the Apothecary answered truthfully.

  “Then she can’t have told you,” the teacher replied, making John wonder which of them was going mad. “But you’re right. It’s about that very boy, that wretched pustulated creature.”

  “Richard? Why, what has happened to him?”

  “Heaven knows,” answered the master, angrily throwing the book he was carrying to the ground.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean, Sir, that the snivelling little beast has vanished, disappeared. He left school early on Tuesday morning and has not been seen since. For all I know, he could be dead.”

  “Oh my God,” said the Apothecary, and sank back down into the chair, all the breath suddenly gone out of him.

  5

  The Apothecary could hardly believe what he had just heard. He had last seen Richard van Guylder boarding the Exeter coach with his tragic sister. Now it would appear that he, too, had gone missing. A ghastly fear that he had suffered the same fate as Juliana gripped John and he felt himself break out in a cold clammy sweat.

  “You say you have called the constable, Sir?”

  “Indeed so. Yet the wretch has so far failed to put in an appearance.”

  “You have sent word to Richard’s father?”

  “I certainly have, but up until now there has been no response.”

  “That is because he is away from home. I have been searching for him myself.”

  The little eyes narrowed again. “Who did you say you were?”

  “I am a friend of the family.” John adopted his upright citizen face. “Would it help you at all, Sir, if I joined in the hunt for your missing pupil?”

  “Shouldn’t that be left to the constable?”

  “But he’s not here and I am.”

  The headmaster considered, his tight little eyes narrowing then widening in concentration. Finally he said, “Oh very well. Where do you want to begin?”

  “Perhaps in Richard’s room. There might be some clue in there, possibly the address of one his friends, maybe a hint as to where he has gone.”

  Regarding him with a look of extreme suspicion, the teacher led the way to an institutional building, not guaranteed to bring a great deal of comfort into the lives of those unfortunate young men who dwelt there. However, John supposed, sacrificing the delights of home must be considered a small price to pay in return for a good education. Richard’s cell was spartan, monastic almost, containing a hard-looking bed and chair and a small table. Text books lay open, strewn about the place, giving the impression that the pimply youth rarely spent a moment without study. Small wonder, thought John, that the poor chap makes the journey back to Topsham to attend divine service on Sundays. He would seem to have little else in his life.

  Behind him the headmaster was puffing noisily. “Not much here, is there?”

  “Perhaps we should look through his clothes.”

  But again there wasn’t much. Two serviceable but good quality suits, a cloak, two pairs of shoes and a battered hat seemed to be the sum total of Richard’s possessions. Picking up the cloak, the Apothecary felt in the pocket. A handkerchief, a snuff box — a rather pathetic pretension, John thought — and a calling card was all there was to show by way of contents. He turned the card over in his hand.

  “Gerald Fitz,” the Apothecary read, “7, The Close, Exeter.” Over his shoulder, the headmaster was doing the same thing. “Fitz, eh?” he said breathily. “Never knew young van Guylder mixed in such exalted company.” The Apothecary’s svelte brows rose in an unspoken question.

  “The Fitzes are one of the richest and best connected families in the county. They’re related to Lord Courtenay, you know.”

  The piggy eyes glinted meaningfully and John, to whom the name meant nothing at all, looked intelligent and said, “Ah.”

  “Of course Gerald Fitz was not educated here; private tutors and all that frippery. However, I believe he is a pleasant enough young man, though quite the beau of fashion if one were to judge by appearances.”

  John looked round the dismal little room once more, trying to picture the spotty boy sitting at the table, his nose in a book, wishing he were somewhere else. He turned to the headmaster again. “As I mentioned, Mr. van Guylder is not at home. You wouldn’t by any chance have knowledge of his haunts in Exeter?”

  The porcine eyes gleamed rudely. “You could try a certain house in Blackboy Road.”

  “Do I take it you mean a house of pleasure?”

  The headmaster laughed gustily. “Pleasure, ill repute? What’s in a name?”

  “What indeed? Does this house have a number?”

  “No, but you cannot miss it. Outside hangs a sign portraying a female leg, stockinged and gartered. It is much patronised, so I believe, by the officers stationed at Rougemont Castle.” The teacher’s face took on a perceptive expression. “So both father and son are out of contact at the same time. How odd.”

  “It is certainly a coincidence but let it be hoped that by the end of the day each will have returned.”

  “When,” said the headmaster nastily, “I set eyes on young Richard again he can be assured of a sound beating.”

  A fact guaranteed, thought John, to keep him away as long as humanly possible.

  Outside in the street, nestling close to the East Gate so that he might observe the passing parade from the commanding view of his coachman’s box, Irish Tom sat patiently, his eyes moving from time to time to The Dragon Inn in High Street, a look of longing on his face whenever he did so. Much as John wanted to get on with his search for the van Guylders, father and son, he simply didn’t have the heart to keep his employee, who had after all been born in a hostelry in County Tyrone, away from his ale a moment longer.

  “I’ll meet you in the inn,” he called out, pointing to The Dragon. Tve a lot to tell you.”

  As soon as he had done this, the Apothecary thought how annoyed his adopted father, Sir Gabriel Kent, doyen of all that was fine and fashionable, would have been with him for familiarity with the servants. Yet it was very difficult not to discuss the matter with someone who had been present from the start of the whole odd affair. And it was odd indeed, John considered, that the family should be so blighted; first the daughter’s murder, then the son’s disappearance, and finally the father, presumably at his wit’s end, wandering the streets of Exeter in search of a girl already dead.

  Irish Tom heard the story in silence, supping ale the meanwhile. When John had finis
hed, he finally put his tankard down. “Are you going to the brothel, Sir?”

  “Well, I don’t suppose for a minute that van Guylder will be there, after all the last thing on his mind must be the delights of the flesh. But perhaps I might get some information about where else he goes.”

  “And what about these people, Fitz? Are you going to call on them?”

  “It’s going to be difficult if they’re as grand as they sound. But try I must. After all, the disappearance of Richard at the time of his sister’s murder is very significant.”

  “Do you think he had anything to do with it?”

  “In what way?”

  “I mean could he have killed her himself, Sir?”

  “I suppose he might have been one of the people involved, yes. You see, Tom, it’s my belief that this was the work of at least two different hands, probably more.”

  “The van Guylders, father and son?”

  “Perish the thought, for she had been raped as well.”

  “How disgusting. Yet one hears some terrible things on one’s travels.”

  “Further, Tom, I’m certain the girl was pregnant.”

  “Well, if one of the filthy bastards had done that to her they might well want her silenced for ever, rather than bring shame on the pair of “em.”

  John was about to remonstrate, about to say that they were jumping to conclusions and that incest was very far from proven, when a name caught his attention.

  “ … Richard van Guylder been in today?” Both the Apothecary and his coachman turned to look and saw a beefy young man, very fresh of countenance and fair of head, standing at the counter, earnestly questioning the landlord. Realising that he was being regarded, the newcomer stared back then made an awkward bow.

  “Do I know you, Sir?”

  “No, Sir. But I couldn’t help hearing you mention Richard van Guylder.”

  The young man’s rubicund features flushed to the shade of a cherry. “You have news of him?”

  It was impossible, for the moment at least, to tell the truth. “I have some,” John answered vaguely. “But perhaps you would care to sit here and tell me your connection with the gentleman before I impart it.”

  The young man crossed the room, his over-tight breeches straining a little as he walked. The Apothecary found him rather a pathetic figure despite his hearty looks.

  “Tobias Wills, at your service, Sir.” He bowed, his jacket creasing at the sleeves as he did so. “I am betrothed to Juliana,” he announced proudly. “We are to be married in the summer. Richard is my future brother-in- law.”

  John stared at him, stupefied, not having a single idea as to how to handle this latest situation. “When did you last see her?” was absolutely the best he could manage.

  Every thought process Tobias had ran over his face for even a child to read. Surprise changed to suspicion to worry before he blurted out, “Why do you ask that?”

  The Apothecary decided that total discretion was the only way forward.

  “Because I believe she might be in Exeter visiting her brother, who has probably taken the day off school. Mr. van Guylder is thought to be in the city looking for them.”

  Tobias laughed heartily. “How like Juliana. She’ll be shopping and has met one of her lady friends, I dare say. I doubt there’s cause for alarm.”

  Poor bastard, thought John, while beside him Irish Tom, clearly embarrassed, got to his feet and said, “I’ll be round in the yard if you need me, Sir.” The Apothecary managed a smile. “How long have you known the family?”

  “All my life,” Tobias answered cheerily. “I grew up with them. My father is a great friend of Jan van Guylder’s. I think the two of them decided that Juliana and I would be wed while we were both still in our cradles.”

  “And the pair of you went along with this?” Suspicion returned to the honest countenance. “These are very personal questions from a stranger, Sir.”

  “Forgive me. It is just that as I am acquainted with the family I have been entrusted with the task of finding Richard, who is not in school, by his headmaster.” Relief and trust appeared. “Oh, I see.”

  “But allow me to introduce myself. I am John Rawlings, an apothecary of Shug Lane in London.”

  Now Tobias was totally perplexed. “You have come all the way from London to find Richard?”

  “No, not at all. I am staying down here on holiday with my bride of two weeks.”

  Tobias looked conspiratorial, man-to-man ish. “Honeymoon, eh,” he said roguishly. “Can’t wait till mine. Juliana will make a beautiful bride, don’t you agree?”

  It was heart-rending to hear him speak inthat way and yet it could, John considered, be the cleverest bluff of all. If Tobias were not the father of Juliana’s child and had discovered that she was pregnant by someone else, could he and a cohort have murdered the girl? Or, even more convoluted but still possible, if it was his child and he had tired of his betrothed, had he killed her to rid himself of both her and his unwanted baby?

  Yet, again and again, John found himself coming back to the same stumbling block: the terrible beating and the rape. Could anyone who had once loved Juliana inflict such appalling injuries on her? Could a father, brother or lover be so evil? Then the Apothecary remembered the cruelty he had encountered in the past and decided that anything, however vile, was indeed possible. He stared at Tobias closely, considering whether the jolly but juvenile manner was a clever act.

  “I am wondering,” he said, “if you might be able to give me any information regarding Richard. As I have been set the task of finding the boy I think I really ought to get on with it.”

  “While I meanwhile will search for his sister. What a good plan. Should we meet later and compare notes?”

  John looked doubtful. “My wife is in Sidmouth and I am most anxious to return to her by dinner time. I shall call on the Fitzes and at the bro … “ His voice trailed away.

  “You were saying?” Tobias asked politely.

  Oh dammit, thought John, the fellow’s a grown man.

  “The brothel in Blackboy Road. I am told that Mr. van Guylder frequents it from time to time.”

  “Oh he does,” Tobias answered seriously. “He is a widower but not old, so who could blame him?”

  “You obviously know the family very well indeed.”

  “Well, I am destined to become part of it.”

  “Even down to sharing their darkest secrets?”

  Tobias went crimson. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

  * * *

  “That was terrible,” John remarked as he stepped into his coach. “If that chap is as innocent as he looks, then I have most cruelly deceived him.”

  “Well you could hardly blurt out that his betrothed has met a grisly end and is currently lying in Exeter mortuary, now could you?”

  “Not really.” John glanced at his watch. “I mustn’t be late back, Tom. I think I’ll visit the brothel then save the Fitzes for this evening when, finely dressed, Emilia and I might call. I have a feeling I would stand a better chance of being admitted that way.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, Sir. But what if you find neither Mr. van Guylder or his son today? Will you be content to go home empty-handed?”

  “I’ll be far from content but I think I have little choice. I don’t want my wife to lose all patience with me even before the honeymoon is over.”

  “No, Sir, that would never do,” the coachman answered seriously as they trundled their way towards Blackboy Road and the house with The Sign of the Gartered Leg.

  * * *

  In the event, they never got there. Whether he had been in for a visit or whether it was just by the merest chance John was not sure, but as they turned into the street where gentlemen took their pleasure, he saw Jan van Guylder striding towards their carriage, his eyes glazed and tears pouring down his cheeks. The Apothecary was on his feet in an instant, lowering the window and sticking his head out.

  “Mr. van Guylder. Over here. It
’s John Rawlings. I must have a word with you.”

  Tom pulled the horses in and the carriage came to a stop. Jan, however, shook his head, applying his handkerchief to his eyes and making a motion with his arm which suggested pushing away. John ignored him and jumped down, fishing in his pocket for the smelling salts which he always carried.

  “No, please no,” said the Dutchman from the depths of his hands, which he had placed over his face, apparently to conceal his public shame.

  “Get a grip on yourself,” John said, as soothingly as he could. “There is much to get through today. Come, sit in the carriage with me.”

  Van Guylder turned a tortured face in his direction. “What do you mean? Do you have news of my sinful daughter who has strayed from her home yet again?”

  “Yes, I have news of her,” the Apothecary answered. “My friend, you must prepare yourself for a shock. I beg you to step into my coach where we will be guaranteed privacy.”

  The Dutchman’s eyes bolted in his head and he appeared on the point of collapse.

  “She’s dead, isn’t she? Nothing else could make you look so grim.”

  “I will not speak until we are hidden from the world,” John stated resolutely, and taking van Guylder by the arm he dragged him, protesting but fortunately too weak to put up much resistance, into the conveyance.

  Once inside the Dutchman lost all control. “What has happened?” he sobbed, his voice thick with emotion. “Is Juliana really dead? Has she paid for her sins with her life?” Despite the man’s obvious distress, John felt immensely irritated. “You sound like an Old Testament thunderer, Sir. Let he who be without sin cast the first stone, is more my philosophy. Yes, your tragic daughter is dead but through no fault of her own, of that I feel certain. It is others who have sinned against her by taking her young life.”