by Deryn Lake
“Then with the authorities after me I took ship for home.”
“So your child was born in England, in this lovely house.”
“Very far from it. My father had cut me off when I ran away, changed his will so that I inherited nothing and refused ever to speak to me again. I had to make my way in the world with a baby son to support.”
“What did you do?”
“I borrowed enough money to start another school, only this time it was I who taught swordsmanship and dancing. At first the sons of gentlemen refused to come, and then, slowly, the novelty value began to have an appeal. Suddenly I was the rage with all the young bucks and blades in town, and my fortunes began to turn round.”
“Was this in London?”
“No, in Bath. Anyway, it seemed that my father had got to hear of my success and one day he sent for me. He had no direct heir, you see, and on his death his estates were going to pass to a remote cousin who, he felt certain, would sell this place of which he, my father, was so fond. It seemed he wanted to leave sufficient money to my son, his grandchild, to ensure that Withycombe House would remain in the family.”
“How old was your boy by this time?”
“Frederico was twelve and handsome as day. He had inherited the dark looks of neither of us but instead was as fair and as blue-eyed as an angel. And in that lay his undoing.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have heard of the Society of Angels?”
“I have indeed. A gang of young ne’er-do- wells who terrorise the citizens of Exeter after dark.”
Elizabeth gave a humourless smile. “I’m afraid they are a little bit more than that. They are not just naughty pranksters but something far more sinister.”
“In what way?”
“They poison and corrupt. My father duly died and my cousin sold this house to Frederico, paid for with the money left to him by his grandfather. We moved from Bath and took up residence here — and then the trouble started. My son, aged sixteen, frequented Exeter for his entertainment. Monied, with an Earl for a grandfather and an exotic Italian title, he rapidly attracted the attention of the wrong sort. To cut to the bare bones, he joined the Angels and through them learned the noxious delights of opium smoking. Soon my beautiful boy became a craven addict, a wreck of what had been a fine and glorious youth. Then, in some seedy house in the backstreets, he took too much of the filthy stuff and he died, alone and in degradation. It was I who had to bring his body back, it was I who had to deal with the coroner, it was I who swore revenge on them all and who have made it my life’s work to hunt the bastards down and get rid of them one by one.”
“You mean you kill them?”
“If I can do so safely and without leaving trace, yes. Some I merely wound. Others I frighten into submission.”
“I was told that the gang packed up for a while. Was that your doing?”
“Partly. But they were revived again for a purpose, at least that’s my opinion.”
John shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“They’re up to something more than assaulting women and terrorising night watchmen. It’s my belief that they are smuggling.”
“What makes you say so?”
“They’ve rigged up a phantom coach, complete with headless coachman.”
“I’ve seen it and must admit to being frightened by it.”
“Well
But the Marchesa got no further. There was a knock on the door and a footman appeared.
“The doctor is here, Lady Elizabeth, and I have also brought the gentleman’s caudle.”
“We need one but not the other. Tell the physician that I will pay him for his trouble but that he will not be required today.”
“Very good, my Lady.” Setting the drink down on a small table, the servant left the room again.
John turned to his hostess. “You didn’t tell me how you got this,” and he ran his fingers gently over Elizabeth’s scar.
“It was during the duel I fought with my husband’s murderer, my so-called admirer. He shrieked at me that if he couldn’t have me nobody else would and that he would disfigure me for life, so just before I killed him he did this to me.”
“But it hasn’t disfigured you.”
She was very close to him. “Do you mean it?”
“Of course I do.”
“Will you kiss me just to prove that.”
“No,” answered John very seriously, “I am far too afraid of the consequences.”And with a great deal of determination, he went to sit on the other side of the room to listen to the rest of her story.
* * *
The sun was high by the time he rode down the drive and headed back towards Topsham, his thoughts in turmoil. The Marchesa had told him everything, even down to the fact that she had made herself a hideout in the deserted Wildtor Grange in order that she might spy on the Angels more successfully. The phantom coach she dismissed as a ploy to frighten people away while the gang was about its illegal business.
“They’re landing cargo on the Clyst, somewhere round near the Bridge Inn, I’m certain of it. So it suits them well to ride out in that coach and scare people into their houses. I watch for them as often as I can but so far have not discovered their landing point.”
Thinking of Joe Jago and the Runners, John had said, “It seems to me you could do with some help.”
She had given him the most enigmatic of looks. “I have always ridden alone, my friend. There is no reason why I should ask for assistance now.”
“Perhaps because you might then get the results you want.”
The Marchesa had smiled at him. “With or without help, I usually achieve those.”
Shortly after that he had left her, bowing formally, deliberately avoiding looking into her mocking eyes, wondering when, despite everything, he would see her again.
But now as he headed for Topsham and his wife, he felt guilty that even so much as a kiss had passed between him and the extraordinary Lady Elizabeth di Lorenzi.
Realising that most of the morning had gone, John encouraged the plodding Hicks to make best speed he could, and finally arrived at The Salutation just in time to see Joe Jago heading down towards the quay with purposeful tread.
“Joe,” he called, “where are you off to?”
“I’m going to catch the noonday coach into Exeter.”
“Don’t worry about that, Emilia and I will take you in. I’ll quickly change, then I’ll be with you.
Mr. Fielding’s clerk looked very solemn though John could have sworn there was a twinkle about the light blue eyes. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Sir.”
“Oh? Why’s that?””Mrs. Rawlings has already taken your coach and gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?” the Apothecary asked in sudden alarm, the terrible thought that by means unknown Emilia had found out about this morning’s kiss and left him, uppermost in his mind.
“She’s gone into town, Sir. She said that Irish Tom must take the carriage to be repaired and then she had several people to call upon.”
“But she doesn’t know anybody.”
“On the contrary she reeled off quite a few names, Gerald Fitz’s among them.”
“She mustn’t see him. He’s a womaniser.” Joe Jago burst out laughing. “I’m sure Mrs. Rawlings is quite capable of looking after herself. Now, if you come as you are we might yet catch the coach and then you’ll be able to find her.”
Handing Hicks to a hostler and giving the man a coin to return the weary animal to its stables, John crammed his hat on his head and sprinted down the road to the harbour where the coach that ran between Topsham and Exeter was virtually closing its doors. Clambering on to the roof, John and Joe squeezed into a place normally meant for one person.
“Oh dear,” said the Apothecary, all of a twitter., “I do hope I can find her. Tell me, Joe, was she very annoyed?”
“Somewhat put out.”
“Exactly who did she say she was going to call on?�
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“Sir Clovelly Lovell, Gerald Fitz, possibly Miss Clive.”
John groaned audibly and several of the other passengers stared.
“Come now, Sir,” said Joe genially. “Let us not waste time worrying. I have much to report to you.” And the clerk described how the rest of last night’s meeting had gone, ending with, “Dick Ham told me you found a small piece of white material close to the figurehead. Do you by any chance have it about your person?”
John looked apologetic. “I left it in my room. I meant to give it you but it grew late and I forgot. I’m sorry.”
“I shall examine it this evening when, by the way, I have the redoubtable quay master to interview regarding his presence in Milk Street on the day Juliana vanished.”
“Tobias Wills thinks he did it. Says the old man never got over his attachment to the girl and was still in pursuit of her.”
“Does he now?”
“Yes. By the way, how is Jan van Guylder? Have you any news?”
“He will live, poor soul, for what his life’s worth. Richard and Juliana are to be buried side by side day after tomorrow. Apparently all work will cease on the quay as a mark of respect. But how the poor father will be strong enough to attend I cannot imagine.”
“Has he any family to support him?”
“No, they are all in Holland and travelling is difficult because of the war.”
“The French won’t maraud a ship flying the Netherlands flag.”
“Perhaps some of them will get here in time,” Joe answered. He changed the subject. “Tell me your adventures, Sir.”
John proceeded to do so, leaving out nothing except that one unforgettable kiss which, he knew for sure, it was imperative he forget. Joe looked thoughtful. “Is there any way in which this woman could be connected with Juliana’s murder?”
“I can’t think of one.”
“Unless …”Joe looked even more thoughtful. “ … she saw something. You say she wanders around the wild heath and has made herself a hideaway up at the deserted house, then she may well have noticed some unusual occurence on the day the girl was killed.”
“Would you like to call on her?” said John hopefully.
“No, Sir, as you have made contact with her, I think it should be you.”
Inwardly the Apothecary cringed though just a little cold current somewhere was secretly pleased.
The coach rumbled through the South Gate and dropped its first load of passengers at the White Hart Inn, while a few more, bound for the city centre, got on. And it was then, just as they were approaching High Street that John, still on the roof and staring down into the street, saw him. A negro in scarlet livery was strutting along, head in air and whistling a tune.
“Look,” said John, nudging Joe in the ribs. “That’s our man, Sir.”
“Well, I’m going after him. Please,” he shouted to the coachman, just below them on his box, “can you let me out. I’ve just seen someone I know.”
As luck would have it they were travelling at snail’s pace behind a slow-moving cart and the Apothecary, with a great deal of assistance from Joe, managed to scramble past the driver and literally drop into the street. However, all this took a few minutes and by the time he had gained the cobbles and looked round, the negro had vanished. Hurrying onwards, John caught a glimpse of scarlet coat and broke into a run.
Hearing footsteps behind him, the negro looked over his shoulder. His eyes widened in panic at the sight of someone pursuing him and he started to lope along the street like a gazelle. Determined to catch him up, John ran all the faster. But there he made a mistake. With his lithe powerful limbs, the negro sped out of sight, leaving the Apothecary puffing and panting and feeling rather foolish as he mopped his brow and fought to get his breath back. Yet there was nothing for it. He had lost his quarry and now had the double task of finding both Joe and Emilia and probably ending up locating neither.
He had run so far that he had almost arrived at the West Gate and there, appropriately enough, John spied a tavern named The Blackamore’s Head. Desperately in need of a jug of ale, the Apothecary stepped inside, thinking he would sit quietly and plan his next move. Taking a seat at the nearest table he suddenly realised that from a gloomy corner a large pair of eyes were staring at him. The negro was already in there ahead of him.
The servant made to run but this time John was too quick for him. Grabbing him by the arm, he said, “Don’t be afraid. I only want to talk to you about Miss Juliana.”
The negro gaped at him, clearly terrified. “I’m not going to hurt you,” John said soothingly. “In fact, I’ve got money for you — “ He took a few coins from his pocket with his spare hand. “ — if you just tell me about the day you met her off the coach and carried her bags to her lodging house. Do you remember that?” He clinked the coins encouragingly.
The negro, who was probably aged about nineteen or twenty, John thought, cleared his throat. “Yes, Master.”
“You needn’t call me that. My name is Rawlings.”
“Yes, Master Rawlings.”
The Apothecary gave up. “And what is your name?”
“They call me Daniel, Master.”
“And you work for Lord Hood I believe.”
Daniel rolled his eyes wildly. “Please, Master, don’t tell him you found me here. He knows that I sometimes go to the inns but today I am running an urgent errand.”
John smiled to himself. “I shall say nothing, besides, I am not of Lord Hood’s acquaintance. You have nothing to fear from me. Now, tell me about that day. You met Miss Juliana off the coach and her brother handed her into your care. Is that correct?”
“Yes, Master.”
“So where did you go?”
“To Milk Street, where she was to lodge until her wedding.”
John’s jug of ale almost fell from his grip and he stared at the negro in blank amazement.
“Did you say wedding?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Who was to be the happy bridegroom? Do you know?”
A look of cunning spread across Daniel’s features and he answered nonchalantly. “Oh, yes Master.”
John produced a couple of coins and put them down on the table. Daniel scratched his wiry head. “Now, let me see … “
The Apothecary doubled the amount. “Now, that’s all you’re getting. I can find out some other way.”
“I remember now,” the negro said with a grin. “It was old Master Digby-Duckworth.”
“Who?”
“Old Sir Bartholomew Digby-Duckworth.”
“I don’t know who he is. Tell me about him.”
“Why, Master, he is a big banker. His bank started long ago with his grandfather. Lord Hood say that Sir Bartholomew is one of the richest men in Devon.”
“And Miss Juliana was going to marry him?”
“Oh yes, Master. They were betrothed.”
So what price Tobias Wills? thought the Apothecary. And this idea was followed by the notion that if ever a girl was asking to be murdered it was most certainly Juliana van Guylder.
“You say you took her to Milk Street. What number was it?”
Daniel scratched his head again. “Now let me see … “
John produced another coin and the negro grinned broadly. “Oh yes, I recall. It was number three.”
“Two more questions.
“Yes, Master?”
“Where does Sir Bartholomew live? And did you see Miss Juliana again after that day?”
“He lives in a big house near Long Brook Street by the castle. And I never saw her again, Master.” Daniel’s eyes rolled once more. “She’s dead, ain’t she, Master?” John nodded. “It’s the talk of the town that she was murdered. Guess Gerald must have done that.”
“Gerald Fitz? How do you know him?”
“Everyone knows me,” the negro answered, sticking out his chest. “I’m the best black in Exeter.”
“How many of you are there?”
Daniel look
ed very slightly shame-faced. “Only four. But I’m still the best. Anyway, I call at all the great houses and Gerald Fitz and his friends like me. I play dice with them.”
“Do you now. So tell me, why should Gerald kill Juliana?”
Daniel clapped his hand over his mouth and rolled his eyes spectacularly. “I can’t say no more. But it’s what my mistress call “Green Eye”.
“Jealousy? He was jealous of Sir Bartholomew?”
The negro shook his head and got to his feet. “I said enough, Sir. Good day to you.” And he had scooped up the money and gone out through the door in one supple, effortless move. Signalling to the girl to refill his jug, John sat in silence, pondering this latest extraordinary development. So who was the father of the child Juliana had been carrying? Tobias Wills, Gerald Fitz, Thomas Northmore or old Sir Bartholomew? Or none of them? Still much preoccupied, the Apothecary left the tavern and headed back in the direction of The Close and the home of Sir Clovelly Lovell.
12
It appeared that not only was Sir Clovelly Lovell at home but that he was more than anxious to receive. He came bustling out of his library, smiling and nodding and greeting his visitor as if he were a long lost relative.
“Ah my dear young friend, how very pleasant to see you. You are here in search of your wife no doubt. Pretty little thing, what what? Well, she and Lady Lovell have gone to shop and then to see the play. Which gives us much free time, dear chap, much free time. They asked me to accompany them but I refused. Can’t stand the playhouse. Always go to sleep, damme. Anyway, what say you that we go to see the sights and then to dine? Always enjoy a little night life in the company of another male. And being able to eat what I like without the womenfolk butting in.”
John smiled encouragingly. “An excellent plan, my dear Sir Clovelly. But meanwhile I have a favour to ask you in connection with a matter that we have discussed once before.” Instantly the jolly water rat eyes were full of perception. “Are you referring to the death of that unfortunate van Guylder girl?”
“Yes, Sir, I am.”
“Do you want to see Fitz again?”