by Deryn Lake
Toby nodded thoughtfully. ‘Well, the Coroner opened his inquest on the Earl and closed it again till a later date. Likewise with the other two. But he has released the bodies for burial so we are going to have three funerals on our hands.’
‘I see. So where are the late Earl’s grandsons at the moment?’
‘Staying at an inn in Exeter. They plan to wait here until they can accompany their grandfather’s body back to Cornwall.’
‘Any news of them?’
‘Well, apparently Lord George is going round getting into fights and falling fantastically drunk. The new Earl, however, having recovered from his little fit which I believe I engendered, has seen the light and is now being very solicitous of those who were injured. He has called repeatedly at Lady Sidmouth’s asking to see both his grandstepmother — the weeping Miranda — and Felicity. The former won’t have anything to do with him; the latter, who is allowed up to sit in a chair, has received him on several occasions. The last time he asked to see his sister and was told she was out. He did not like that at all.’
‘Has he discovered that she has gone?’
‘Not yet, I believe. Lady Sidmouth is either being very tactful or very clever. I know she has set in train her own enquiries but the fact that her estate manager has also disappeared is a powerful piece of evidence.’
‘Does she realize they have gone off together?’
‘Yes, and I think she secretly thinks good luck to them.’
‘Do you feel as I do that Lady Imogen was not behind the crime?’ John asked.
‘Funnily enough, her choice of husband has swayed me in her favour. You see, I know Jessamy Gill. He used to come into Exeter every so often and he is the salt of the earth, as the saying goes. If he thought she was mixed up in anything like a murder plot he would have turned his back on her for ever.’
‘And what about Geoffrey James?’
‘Him I am not so certain of. I’ll take your word that he’s mad with grief but I would need a little more convincing than that.’
‘I forgot to tell you that someone was in the garden last night, silently watching me.’
A gleam shone in Toby’s eyes. ‘Who was it? Do you know?’
‘No, I saw nobody, but I was just aware of his — or her — presence.’
‘Perhaps it was your imagination.’
‘Perhaps,’ answered John.
They formulated a plan that they would divide the suspects between them. John would take Miranda, the ex Viscount — now the new Earl, Lord George and Mrs Cushen. Constable Miller would take Geoffrey James, Lady Imogen and Felicity.
‘What if Imogen has already left for Dorset?’
‘Then I’ll follow her there, Sir. I am very thorough, you can believe me.’
‘And the owner of that soiled and grubby garter?’
‘He’ll have gone back to whichever rathole he emerged from long since.’
‘Perhaps not. Perhaps he was an Exeter man.’
‘In that case, his days are numbered.’
John had started the day so early that it was only eleven o’clock when he emerged from his conference with the Constable. Feeling that the net must be tightening around who actually masterminded the killings, he decided that time was of the essence and ordered the coachman to go first to the apothecary’s shop in the main thoroughfare then on to Sidmouth House. An hour later he bowed his way into Lady Sidmouth’s receiving room and asked if he might visit Miranda as he had several healing medicaments he wanted to give her.
‘She won’t see you, John. She allows no one near her.’
‘Then what does she do with herself all day?’
‘She lies on her bed of grief and weeps.’
‘Well that’s not going to do her a lot of good. I mean she’ll have to come out for the funeral.’
‘And she’ll have to journey to Cornwall for it. I mean sooner or later she will have to take up residence in her new home. Perhaps you will be able to persuade her.’
‘I can only try.’
But a gentle knocking on the door of Miranda’s bedroom only elicited a shout of, ‘Go away. Have you no pity?’
John disguised his voice, speaking falsetto and trying desperately to sound like a maid. ‘The apothecary has called with various medicines for you, Milady. They will strengthen you for your journey to Cornwall.’
There was an audible sigh and then Miranda said, ‘Oh very well.’
A second or two later a key turned in the lock and there she stood.
To say that she looked ghastly was an understatement; in fact she looked fit to die herself. Her skin had the fearful pallor of death, her eyes were like black stones set shockingly in a casing of marble, her blonde hair stuck on end and was unbrushed and uncared for. She wore a soiled and grubby nightdress. Beneath her eyes were streaks where tears had poured down her unwashed cheeks. They widened now as she took in who was standing before her.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked in an indignant tone.
‘I am an apothecary and I have brought you some of my simples,’ he said, his face ingenuous, his manner sweet.
‘Oh, very well, come in. Shall I call a maid for chaperone?’
He affected a slightly offended air. ‘There will be no need for that. I merely wish to administer my potions.’
‘I’m sorry, I did not mean to offend you. My grief is so great that I do not always know what I am saying.’
She turned away from him and disconsolately walked towards the bed on which she threw herself and indulged in a fresh bout of weeping. John hastily gave her his handkerchief, removing the other — completely sodden.
‘I would like a little light if you have no objection,’ he said, and before she could say a word crossed to the two large windows and pulled back the curtains.
The glare of daylight fell on Miranda’s ravaged features and John swiftly unpacked the parcel that the apothecary in High Street, Exeter, had prepared for him. There was autumn Gentian for debility, together with white Dittany for hysteria. To restore Miranda’s ailing appetite the apothecary had also added an infusion of Polypody sweetened with honey.
‘Well, here we are then,’ said John in a jolly tone.
Miranda looked up from the pillow and a deep sob raked her body. ‘What are they?’
‘Physicks to make you better. Try some, there’s a good girl. Remember that you will have to get up soon and journey to your new home. You won’t want the servants to see you looking worn out with weeping, will you?’
‘No,’ she said a little reluctantly.
‘Then drink these down please, Countess St Austell. I promise they will restore you to full health.’
Miranda perked up at that, saying in a wistful voice, ‘Yes, I am the Countess. Not even dear Montague’s terrible death can take that away from me.’
‘It most certainly can’t,’ John answered.
He looked at her, assuming his honest citizen face. ‘Tell me, Miranda, did you truly love your husband?’
A beatific smile lit her saddened features. ‘Oh, Mr Rawlings, I loved him with all my heart.’
Twenty-Five
Unable to visit Felicity who was out in the garden with Mr Perkins, the surgeon who had removed the bullet from her arm, John decided to go for a solitary stroll and see if he could sort out his thoughts. Almost without knowing it his feet were leading him away from the formal gardens and downhill to the bottom of the cliff where he could just see a small strip of sand appearing. He waited, perched on rather an uncomfortable rock until slowly the beach became visible, then he ventured downwards.
Removing his shoes and stockings and putting them into his pocket, he walked on the strand barefoot, feeling the sand rising between his toes and squirming his feet in the dampness beneath him. The beach was no more than a quarter of a mile long but was quite endearing, being a pretty shape, lying beneath one of those marvellous red cliffs that abound in Devon but which, John believed, could fall at any time giving no more notice t
han a distant rumble. With its rapidly running tides leaving interesting rock pools, and its white wavelets beating on the shore, John thought it delightful, suitable indeed for lovers to walk upon — until he recalled Jessamy’s warning that it wasn’t safe and one could easily get cut off.
Remembering this he turned to go, but as he did so his eye was caught by some netting high up on the cliff face, snagged on a promontory that was sticking out. Reaching up, he pulled it down and immediately a lump of the cliff fell at his feet and sent a cloud of powdery dust straight into his eyes. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out an extremely moist handkerchief and rubbed it over his face. But it did little good and the Apothecary, choking and with very poor vision, struggled along to the man-made path that led away and climbed a small distance up. Then he turned and looked down.
A floating cloud of red dust was still making its way along the shoreline and he could see that some more rocks had fallen. He thought then that it was just not the swift tides that made the beach a potential death trap. It was the red rock above. So attractive to look at, but a potential killer if it were to fall in any great amount.
Suddenly tired and with his eyes still stinging, the Apothecary plodded his way to the top and went straight to the small coach that Elizabeth had lent him for the day. And it wasn’t until he was ten minutes into the journey that his vision recovered and he was able to look at the piece of netting that had caused all the problems.
It was much finer that he had thought, made of a delicate lace, and though rendered somewhat the worse for being exposed to the elements for some time, it could still be seen as ebony in shade. John’s mind immediately leapt to the couple that Felicity had seen, walking on the beach in the moonlight, the woman’s scarf blowing up and up. He felt that if he knew who they were he would somehow come closer to finding the murderers and the ruthless mind lying behind them.
‘Where are we going, Sir?’ asked the coachman, on seeing John recover himself somewhat.
‘To Lady Elizabeth’s house, please, Samuel. I have something to discuss with her.’
‘Very good, Sir.’
And they trotted off in the direction of Withycombe House.
But a quiet chat with the Marchesa was not to be his fate that day. He arrived home to find that not only had she gone out but that she had taken the twins and nursery maids with her. Other than for the servants the house was empty. John wandered restlessly from room to room, his mind buzzing with thought, unable to settle. And then, almost like an answer to a prayer, the knocker on the front door banged impatiently. The Apothecary immediately settled himself in the Blue Drawing Room, crossed one negligent leg over the other, and picked up a copy of The Gentleman’s Magazine. A footman came in importantly.
‘The Earl of St Austell and Lord George Beauvoir have called, Mr Rawlings.’
‘Then show them in. And Harper, bring in some sherry if you would be so good.’
For once Lord George was completely sober and walked in looking immaculate, his clothes, though black, fitting him like a glove, showing off his broad shoulders and small waist, his trousers tight and quite the latest fashion. His dark hair was tied in a queue, his eyes audacious and bright. The new Earl, by contrast, was dressed in sombre hues and looked slightly vacant behind his spectacles, reminding John vividly of how he had appeared when he had walked into his shop all that time ago.
The Apothecary stood up and made a bow. ‘Gentlemen, how may I help you?’
They bowed back, the Earl’s quite courteous, George’s as if he couldn’t care a fig.
‘We wondered if you had any idea as to the whereabouts of our sister. Seems she walked out of Lady Sidmouth’s house and hasn’t been seen since.’
If there was one thing in which the Apothecary excelled, it was lying. He immediately assumed his concerned face. ‘Good heavens! When was this?’
‘Yesterday, apparently. We wondered if she had come here to talk to Lady Elizabeth.’
‘Not that I know of. We spent a quiet night at home last evening and nobody called. Unless she came this morning but, if so, she would have found everybody out.’
At that moment the sherry arrived and John asked the servant to send in the head footman, who came hurrying in a short while later.
‘You wished to see me, Sir?’
‘Yes, Miller, has the Lady Imogen Beauvoir called at the house in the last twenty-four hours?’
‘No, Sir. I have not seen sight nor sound of her.’
‘Thank you.’
John turned to the two men and spread his hands helplessly. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t help you.’
‘Fact is,’ said George, downing his sherry in one and holding out his glass for a refill, ‘that she’s in an odd state of mind. Apparently she miscarried after that ghastly shooting debacle. If I could find the father I’d string the bastard up,’ he added under his breath. ‘And now she’s wandered off with a wound in her leg. Frankly we’re afraid she might do something silly.’
‘I see,’ said John, fingering his chin. ‘Have you informed the Constable?’
‘God’s wounds,’ answered George, flinging himself to his feet. ‘Do you think we’d advertise the fact that our sister has been behaving like some common slut?’
What an arrant hypocrite, the Apothecary thought. George had sired more bastards than there were ships in the navy — well, almost — and if they had known that their grandfather was abusing the poor wretched girl they should both have been shot. Which set him to wonder why they hadn’t been.
He looked helpless, an expression which he had virtually mastered. ‘I would suggest that in my professional opinion she has had a complete mental collapse and gone back to the only home she knows, your estate in Cornwall. In fact, the more I think about it the more certain I become. That is where you will find Lady Imogen, gentlemen.’
The two young noblemen looked at one another.
‘What do you think, Maurice?’ George asked.
‘It’s a reasonable conclusion.’
‘Do you want me to go down ahead and have a look?’
‘May as well. I’ve got to accompany Father’s coffin back for the funeral.’
‘So have I. But I’m sure that I can get to Cornwall and back by the day after tomorrow.’
John adopted a long face. ‘Is that when the obsequies are being held?’
‘Yes. You and Lady Elizabeth are both invited to attend, of course.’
‘Thank you,’ he answered with much solemnity.
After they had left the room John collapsed back in a comfortable chair and thought about what a fantastic liar he had become. He had kept up his performance in front of the brothers with not even a flicker in the eyes to tell them that he sincerely hoped that Imogen and Jessamy had left the county and were safely in Dorset and starting a new life together.
The sound of the carriage wheels starting up lifted him out of his thoughts and he crossed to the window to watch them go. The coach was just turning in the sweep and he noticed that it had the coat of arms of the St Austells emblazoned on the door. He studied the design with interest, noticing the spread black eagle, its red tongue protruding from its beak, its glaring eye staring fiercely, the words Loyal A Mort written above. He thought about the brothers who had just left him and wondered whether either of them could live up to the family motto. He very much doubted it.
Going upstairs to change, John carefully laid the piece of black lace he had found on the bed for Elizabeth to see. Then fishing deeper in his pocket he found the handkerchief he had used to wipe his eyes after a piece of the red cliff had fallen. It was absolutely sodden and had gone a rusty colour, so badly in fact that John threw it in a bowl of water which he had used to wash himself before he changed. Then he set about putting on night clothes, this time a rich damson shade. From the window he heard a carriage coming up the drive and saw Elizabeth’s dark head, a little bundle seated on each knee, her arms tightly round them, protecting and loving them. He knew in that moment that
he could never separate the Marchesa from her sons. That she would fight like a tigress to keep them by her side and that he would have to settle for that. A thought that made him sad and melancholy. But he put those feelings away as he descended the stairs to greet her.
After the twins had been bathed and put to bed — a ritual which John enjoyed very much — he and Elizabeth dined informally at a small table in the parlour. Over the meal he proceeded to tell her of the day’s events. She listened attentively and eventually said, ‘There is something there of interest but I can’t for the life of me tell you what. I shall sleep on it and hope it comes to me.’
‘I can’t tell you how frightening it was when the cliff began to crumble.’
Elizabeth looked thoughtful. ‘Some of the red cliffs round here can be very dangerous indeed.’
But John could tell by the way that she spoke that her mind was on something else. He knew to question her would not be productive. That she must think whatever it was through and tell him when she had assimilated her ideas. He put his hand over hers.
‘I love you, you know that.’
‘Yes I do. And I love you, you strange little apothecary.’
The meal finished, they went for a stroll in the gardens.
‘The new Earl and brother George called here today.’
‘Oh? What did they want?’
‘To know if either of us knew the whereabouts of their sister.’
‘And?’
‘I lied magnificently. Said she had probably become deranged and gone back to Cornwall.’
‘And all the time she is safely in her lover’s arms.’
‘Let it be hoped that they have packed up and gone.’ John turned to look at her. ‘I am fairly certain that Lady Sidmouth has guessed the truth.’
‘She will never breathe a word, I can assure you of that. She is one of the strangest looking yet kindest people I know. And that is why I have asked her to be godmother to the twins.’
‘They are to be christened?’
‘As soon as this monstrous murder is cleared up.’
‘And who will you have as the other godmother?’