Death and the Black Pyramid jr-13

by Deryn Lake

  ‘Then I shall get him to drop us off and ask him to return to Lewes,’ the Apothecary said, also concealing a grin.

  ‘That will be most satisfactory,’ answered Sir Gabriel and, very subtly indeed winked a sparkling eye.

  Later that evening after Rose had retired to bed, ably assisted by a still-excited Emily, John permabulated through the town with his father, noticing that Lewes was indeed turning itself into a place of interest. Small wonder, he thought, that the Earls of Arundel had decided to convert a part of the castle into a summer residence. John briefly let his mind wander to Coralie Clive, the widow of the late Lord Arundel, and he wondered how she was faring. At one time he had loved her so deeply, would have laid down his life for her, but now his thoughts and commitment lay elsewhere, with the mother of his unborn child. He presumed that the Earl of Arundel must be related to Coralie by marriage and wondered if she would ever be invited to the summerhouse in the castle.

  Sir Gabriel interrupted his train of thought. ‘There is the poster for the prize fight I told you of.’

  John stared, hardly able to believe his eyes, feeling at that moment that he and the Black Pyramid must have some strange spiritual link. For the bare-knuckle fighter was coming to Lewes in two days’ time, almost as if he had known that the Apothecary would be there.

  ‘Damme,’ he exclaimed. ‘He’s coming here. The black fighter who is involved in the case I am trying so hard to solve.’

  ‘A strange coincidence,’ Sir Gabriel answered.

  ‘It is indeed. Well, if we are still here I shall take you to see him.’

  ‘Now that would indeed give me pleasure. There is nothing I like better than seeing a good and well-fought mill.’

  ‘Then go we shall,’ answered John, but his thoughts were a million miles away.

  The next morning he got up early and knocked at Rose’s door. Emily answered, very pink in the cheeks and full of excitement. She dropped him a curtsy.

  ‘Good morning, Sir. Miss Rose is just getting dressed. I will bring her down to breakfast in ten minutes.’

  ‘Very good. I’ll go ahead and have a quick look at the papers.’

  But in the few moments before his daughter joined him John had a strange feeling of disquiet. She was still a little girl for all her adult manner and he felt that to expose her to any kind of danger would be wrong. Yet what danger was there in going to look at that most beautiful of houses, that scene of rural tranquility? Though he had to admit that he himself had felt a touch of ice when that solitary, unmoving figure had come out and so silently stared at him. Thinking about it brought the scene back quite clearly and the Apothecary had just decided that he would go to Vinehurst Place alone when Rose rushed to join him in a flurry of sweet-smelling soap and over-strong tooth cleanser. She looked at him knowingly.

  ‘We are going to visit that house you told me of today, are we not Papa?’

  ‘Well, I…’ he began.

  Rose cut across him. ‘Please, Papa. You promised me an adventure and I shall be so disappointed if I can’t have one.’

  ‘But sweetheart, isn’t coming to Lewes and seeing the town enough excitement for you?’

  ‘Oh it is, Papa. But I truly want to walk with you today. Just the two of us together.’

  She was playing the scene for all she was worth, John realized that, but as with her mother, Emilia, he felt hopelessly outmanoeuvred by such a barrage of charm.

  ‘Very well,’ he said, somewhat reluctantly. ‘We shall go for a little while. But if you feel tired you must tell me at once and we will return to the inn.’

  Rose nodded her head, said, ‘Of course, Papa,’ very sweetly, and addressed herself to her breakfast.

  An hour later, both father and daughter having eaten heartily, they were clambering into the coach which Irish Tom had brought round from the stables.

  ‘Now where are we going, Sorrh?’ asked the Irishman, whose rubicund features had changed not a whit with the passing of the years.

  ‘Outside Lewes, on the road to Brighthelmstone. We turn left at the first crossroads. If you drop us there we shall walk the rest of the way.’

  ‘And what do you wish me to do, Mr Rawlings?’

  ‘Come back to Lewes and see if Sir Gabriel needs you. But even if he does be sure to come back for us in an hour.’

  Rose looked at him. ‘Can’t we stay longer, Papa? An hour is very little time for an adventure.’

  John gave her a firm glance. ‘An hour, Miss, and that is all. And I’ll hear no argument.’

  ‘An hour it is, Sorrh,’ answered Irish Tom, and with a crack of his whip the team of horses started off.

  What had seemed like a long walk was now traversed in a short space of time and it seemed to John that no sooner had they got into the coach than they were getting out again. Before him lay the narrow lane which led to the gates of Vinehurst Place. With a slight tightening in his stomach, John took Rose’s hand and started to walk down it.

  ‘Is this the way to the house, Papa?’

  ‘Yes, my girl. But remember that we will be trespassing once we are through the gates. In other words we will be there without an invitation from the owner.’

  ‘But does he live there?’

  ‘No, he resides in London apparently.’

  ‘Then he can’t be cross with us for having a look,’ Rose answered happily.

  ‘I’m not so sure about that,’ John answered.

  They walked on until the land opened out and there before them were the gates with that long green driveway bearing the faint marks of carriages that had passed that way years ago. Nature had now reclaimed it but John could picture the house in its heyday, with horses clip-clopping on their way to a great assembly within its graceful walls. But now the place stood empty and somehow folorn, as if it were remembering the fatal shooting that had occurred there one terrible night.

  As they drew nearer that elegant and beautiful building John felt Rose quicken her pace.

  ‘Be careful,’ he warned. ‘Somebody might see us.’

  ‘Somebody already has,’ she answered. And breaking free from his hand started to run towards a distant figure that had just plodded into view, coming round the building.

  ‘Hello,’ she was shouting, and John, terrified of the consequences, began to hurry after her.

  The figure stood stock still, very similar to the one that had greeted John on his first visit, except that this one belonged to a child. A somewhat startled child judging by the way he gazed at the newcomer.

  John sped on but Rose was too fast for him and hurried up to the figure, which, on closer inspection, revealed itself as a boy. Her voice echoed back to her father.

  ‘Hello, Sir. I’m Rose Rawlings. Who are you?’

  The boy continued to gawp but after a moment or two gave an awkward bow.

  ‘I be Michael, Miss.’

  ‘Do you live here?’ Rose continued in her brightest manner.

  ‘I lives in the gamekeeper’s cottage. My father be keeper, see.’

  His accent was deepest Sussex and John started to relax. At least this was no sprig of nobility who might order them off the premises with some authority. He caught them up.

  ‘Hello, Michael. I am Rose’s father. Do you mind if we have a look at the house?’

  ‘No, Sir,’ said Michael, giving another stubby bow. ‘Are you a relation or something?’

  John put on his honest face — though feeling rather badly about lying to the child — and said, ‘We’re remote cousins of the Bassetts.’

  Rose turned to him, genuinely surprised, and said, ‘Are we?’

  ‘Yes,’ John replied firmly. ‘We are.’

  The boy looked at his boots, then said, ‘I think perhaps I ought to ask my da’ about you seeing round the house.’

  ‘Oh that will be perfectly all right,’ Rose answered promptly, giving John the vaguest notions of smacking her. ‘Shall we wait here, Papa, while Michael goes to find him?’

  He heaved a sigh. �
��Whatever you say, my dearest.’

  She looked at him then and saw that he was upset. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, and put her hand in his. Instantly his irritation flew away and he smiled at her.

  ‘Yes, that’s fine, Michael. You go and ask your father. Rose and I will sit on that bench over there,’ he said.

  But as soon as the boy was out of sight he turned to his daughter. ‘I am afraid we are going to make this a proper adventure, sweetheart. We are going in to the house without permission.’

  ‘But suppose Michael comes back with his father. Will he shoot us?’

  John laughed. ‘Heavens no, we will have looked round and be gone before he finds him.’

  ‘You are sure?’

  ‘I am positive. His father is gamekeeper and could be wandering around anywhere on the estate. It will probably take him half an hour to locate him.’

  Rose gave him a glance and he read mischief in her eyes, a deep sparkling glee.

  ‘Let us proceed then,’ she said.

  They walked slowly round the house looking for some means of entry. Eventually, John saw a small window leading into what he imagined would be a pantry, standing open sufficiently to allow Rose to squeeze through. He looked at her.

  ‘Sweetheart, are you game to go in there, then make your way to the kitchen door and let me inside?’

  She gave him a gallant smile. ‘Of course I am,’ she said, but he saw that her chin was shaking slightly.

  ‘Rose, you don’t have to go.’

  ‘But I want to have an adventure.’

  He lifted her into the air and she tried to push the window — which was a four-paned sash — up a little. But something was jamming it at the top and she gave her father a hopeless look.

  ‘It’s stuck, Papa.’

  ‘Can you get through the space?’

  ‘Yes, if I breathe in.’

  He felt terrible about asking her to do it but what harm could possibly come to her in an empty house? Nonetheless his heart plummeted as she squeezed herself through the small gap and vanished from his sight. Straining his ears he could hear her feet scampering away — then came silence. John stood anguished as the moments went past. He drew his watch from his pocket and realized that he had been standing outside the kitchen door for almost twenty minutes. Then, distantly, he heard the sound of approaching voices. Glancing over his shoulder he saw that the keeper’s boy was coming back with a tall, burly individual wearing a surly expression. So far they had not seen him but it would only be a matter of minutes before they did. John did the only thing possible and dived down behind a bush, and it was at that precise moment that the kitchen door opened and Rose stood there, red in the face with excitement. The Apothecary took a flying leap across the space, praying as he did so that Michael and his father would be looking in the opposite direction.

  His daughter was staring at him. ‘What’s the matter, Pa?’

  He put an urgent finger to his lips. ‘Not so loud. Michael and the gamekeeper are coming.’

  Rose looked troubled. ‘Did they see you?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. What took you so long to open the door? Couldn’t you find it?’

  She gave him her wonderful smile. ‘Oh yes, that part was easy. But I’ve been talking.’

  A thrill of unease chilled John to the bone. ‘Talking? To whom?’

  ‘A black man.’

  ‘What black man? The house is empty.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. There is a black man here. I came through the window and went into the hall by mistake and there he was, sitting in the grand saloon.’

  ‘Is he there now?’

  ‘Yes, as far as I know. I’ll take you to him.’

  She thrust her small hand into John’s and led him through the glorious interior of that fine and delicate house. But he was not in the mood for admiring its lovely lines, full of a strange foreboding. They reached the hall and turned into a large and beautiful room that led off it. It was completely empty.

  ‘Oh!’ exclaimed Rose, stopping dead in her tracks. ‘He’s gone. What a shame.’

  John squatted down so that their eyes were on a level. ‘Did you really see someone here, sweetheart?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’ Her face screwed up as if she were about to weep. ‘Don’t you believe me?’

  John straightened his back. ‘Yes, I believe you. But the question is, where has the man gone?’

  A tear trickled down Rose’s cheek. ‘I don’t know, Papa. It seems that he must have vanished.’

  ‘Yes,’ answered the Apothecary thoughtfully, ‘it seems as if he must.’

  Twenty-Six

  They left by the kitchen door, John’s plan of examining the house totally thwarted by the arrival of the grim-faced gamekeeper. As they crept outside he could hear the man’s voice.

  ‘Well, where they gone then? Michael, I’ll tan your arse if you be telling me one of your stories.’

  ‘I’m not, Da’. They was here. The man and a little girl called Rose.’

  ‘Well they ain’t here now, are they.’

  It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

  The boy began to snivel. ‘But I spoke to them, Da’. They must have got into the house somehow.’

  ‘Then we’d best go and look for them.’

  John turned to Rose. ‘Come along, darling. Let me give you a piggyback.’

  And scooping her up in the air and onto his shoulders, he started to run. Behind him he heard shouting and then shots were fired, more in warning than attempting to injure, he thought. Nonetheless he increased his speed as best he could carrying the extra burden of the child. The gates came into view and he hastened through them and had never been more relieved in his life than to see his coach drawn up, Irish Tom on the box and Sir Gabriel’s face peering anxiously through the window. Gasping, John covered the last few paces, bundled Rose within, then stepped inside himself.

  ‘My dearest child, did I hear shots?’ asked Sir Gabriel, pretending nonchalance but clearly worried.

  ‘You did indeed, Sir. It was the gamekeeper who mistook me for a hare, I don’t doubt.’

  ‘Foolish fellow,’ answered Sir Gabriel, and took a pinch of snuff. John noticed with tremendous tenderness that the old man’s hands were shaking.

  ‘I suggest that we repair to The White Hart and have a small libation,’ he said.

  ‘What an excellent plan,’ answered his father. He patted Rose’s cheek. ‘And how did you enjoy your adventure, my love?’

  ‘It was splendid, thank you Sir.’

  ‘Which part did you like best?’

  ‘I enjoyed chatting to the black man. He was so interesting.’

  John leant forward. ‘Tell us about him. What was he like?’

  ‘He was very tall and massive, and he had a nice voice.’

  The Apothecary had a sudden mental picture of the Black Pyramid. ‘Did he tell you his name?’ he said.

  ‘He said it was Jack,’ she answered guilessly.

  Over her head John and Sir Gabriel looked at one another and exchanged a silent message.

  Later that night, after the child was in bed, the two men strolled out briefly. It was a cold evening and they did not stay outside long. A wind had got up and was whipping through that small and ancient town clinging to the side of a hill. But though Sir Gabriel strode out bravely John could not help but notice that he was now taking far longer to walk. He felt glad when they got inside The White Hart and he was able to settle his father down with a cognac.

  ‘Father I must talk to you in earnest. I saw nothing of that house today, my entire attention having been seized by Rose thinking she saw a black man within, yet, as you know, the house is totally uninhabited except for a handful of servants.’

  ‘Perhaps he was one of them.’

  ‘I suppose it is possible. But two things bother me. Rose described the physique of the negro perfectly and it matched that of the Black Pyramid. Furthermore she told me that the man said his name was Jack. Which is
the Pyramid’s real name. Sir, I have the strangest feeling that he was there, present in that empty house.’

  ‘Well, there’s only one thing for it,’ answered Sir Gabriel.

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘To ask him.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Tomorrow when we go to see him fight. That will be your time, John.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it will. Father, I am getting the strangest idea about the murder of William Gorringe.’

  ‘Which is?’

  John Rawlings lowered his voice and whispered something so odd that Sir Gabriel just sat there, shaking his head in disbelief.

  The next day they set out to see the Black Pyramid fight. As usual the crowd had gathered in a field nearby and John took Rose, not to see the scrap but to sample the delights of the fair that always seemed to accompany such events. But he had another reason for taking her. He wanted her to identify the man she had seen in the house, to say whether it was the Black Pyramid or not.

  Irish Tom strode ahead of the group, looking a little like a bare-knuckle fighter himself. Behind him walked Sir Gabriel and John, with Emily and Rose following on. They made quite an interesting set of people as they cut a swathe through the crowd and several persons turned their head to get another look at them.

  The fight had been arranged in a meadow beside a river that wound its way placidly through the countryside. In the distance, high up, towered the ruined castle and in a hastily erected box, which consisted of a faded awning over a few planks put down so that the chairs would not sink into the grass, sat two important people, that John thought must be the Earl and Countess of Arundel.

  In the middle of the field some strong sticks had been thrust into the ground round which ropes had been tied in very much the same kind of arrangement as John had seen in Devon. It was here that the fight would take place at the hour of three o’clock. At present there was no sign of the Black Pyramid or Nathaniel Broome, or any representative of his opponent. But the festivities were very much under way. Rose and Emily broke into a run as a puppeteer set up his stall.

  John smiled at Sir Gabriel, who was looking like a grandee as he strolled through the mob.