Death and the Cornish Fiddler

by Deryn Lake

  “No,” she answered reluctantly.

  “Then kindly do so.” And he handed her a little pot containing a mixture he had prepared himself, one of the main constituents of which was Portugal snuff and another gum myrrh.

  Rose hurried through the proceedings then turned to the Apothecary, breathing enthusiastically into his face. He waved a hand in front of his nose.

  “Very powerful. Now come along.”

  As they passed the Marchesa’s door, Rose asked, “Should we wake Mrs Elizabeth?”

  “No, it’s a little early. She’ll come down when she’s ready.”

  So saying they went into the street outside and looked around.

  A goodly collection of men and boys, the youngest being about fourteen years of age, were heading up Coinage Hall Street, banging drums and various other noisy instruments. As well as bearing May blossom they also had greenery in their hats, together with great smiles and a deal of noisy laughter. John, again struck by the primitive sight, listened to another verse of the song.

  “Where are those Spaniards That make so great a boast O!

  They shall eat the grey goose feather And we will eat the roast O!

  In every land O!

  The land where’er we go With Hal-an-tow O!

  Jolly Rumble O!”

  So there was a line in it that spoke of the Spanish Armada, while the grey goose feathers referred to the arrows of English archers.

  Like the bowmen of Agincourt, thought John, and felt patriotic and proud.

  On the opposite side of the street he could see Kathryn Pill and Isobel, clapping their hands noisily and making much of waving at the group of singers. Standing a little further down from them were the four cousins, Muriel Legassick, Tabitha Bligh, together with Gregory and Geoffrey Colquite. They seemed to have gathered several friends with them, including one large lady with a sweep of white hair beneath a huge hat, and very large, very sensual eyes. She caught the Apothecary gazing at her and gave him a slow secretive smile. Slightly disconcerted, John looked away.

  Isobel was making the usual fuss, refusing to hold her mother’s hand and stamping her foot. Even while he watched her the child twisted out of Mrs Pill’s grip and ran into the crowd of singers, joining in their song with a “la la”, sung hopelessly out of tune.

  “Isobel, come here,” shouted the mother, but to no avail. The child continued to dance along with the men, some of whom were annoyed, one or two smiling with embarrassment, but the majority frankly angry.

  “Trust her,” said John.

  A big lad, tall and well built, leant down to the girl and said, “Move along, little lady. This be a man’s dance.” And he put his hand on her shoulder.

  What happened next was unbelievable. Isobel turned on him like a savage dog and sunk her teeth into his flesh, drawing blood. The man let out a howl of pain and moved rapidly away, at which several of the other band of singers turned on the child.

  “Out you little witch. Be off with you before we call the Constable.”

  Isobel stood there looking defiant, then she poked out her tongue to its full length and ran as fast as her legs could carry her down the hill, out of Coinage Hall Street, and off in the general direction of Loe Pool. Kathryn, after a moment’s hesitation, followed in pursuit, shrieking, “Come here, Isobel. Come here!”

  John, glad that he had Rose with him and a valid excuse not to join in the chase, said, “What a perfectly horrible child.”

  “I’m not like that am I, Papa?”

  “Not in the least I’m delighted to say.”

  He picked Rose up and swung her onto his shoulders, “There. Can you see better?”

  “Yes. Shall we follow the singers?”

  “We certainly shall.”

  “Won’t Mrs Elizabeth wonder where we are?”

  “We’ll go back soon and have breakfast with her.”

  “Oh good. Do you like her, Papa?”

  How to explain to a young child that he had fallen in love with the Marchesa and was determined to somehow or other persuade her to marry him. Impossible, thought John, and simply answered “Yes, very much.”

  “I like her too.”

  But John was no longer concentrating, having just caught sight of Tim Painter making his way up the street at a strolling pace. So he had been down at the far end all along, unless he had joined Kathryn when she had gone running down in pursuit of Isobel. But if that were the case why had he come back alone? And where were the other two? Had he been on his own the Apothecary would have investigated further but a pressure on his shoulders told him that Rose was desperate to follow the singers. So, with one final look in Tim’s direction, John complied and went marching off up the street towards the school.

  Breakfast was a hasty affair because Elizabeth was anxious to join the festivities. And she was not to be disappointed. As soon as they got into the street the notes of a solitary fiddle were heard clearly on the morning air, and who should come into their line of vision but the blind fiddler himself, leading a long line of dancers making their way through the narrow alleyways, hand-in-hand. The dance itself was graceful and dignified, the dancers walking forward, then the men changing places and turning the female partner of the other man before they changed places once again and turned their original partner. But it was to the curious habit of dancing in and out of houses, which stood open and welcoming, that John’s eyes were drawn. The dancers entered by one door and left by another, never wavering in their steps. And all the while the fiddler, assisted by Gideon, the thin young tambourine player, and the monkey, drew them on through the town.

  “Who leads the dancers?” John asked a local fellow who was watching the line of swirling people.

  “Helstone folk, born and bred. The lady is always the most recent bride. There’s a deal of jealousy about the man though. It’s supposed to be the most important person, but everyone thinks that role applies to him. I’ve known men fight over the honour.”

  The Apothecary grinned. “I can imagine.”

  “I’ll wager that some get married the day before the festivities in order to fit the bill,” Elizabeth put in.

  “Aye, that and all,” the man answered.

  John ran his eye over the spectators, who had been growing steadily in number. He could see Mrs Legassick and Mrs Bligh together with the Colquites and their other friends, including the large lady with the white hair and soulful eyes, all standing together and cheering everyone on. There was no sign of Mrs Pill or Tim, or little Isobel come to that, but the beautiful Diana Warwick, dressed finely and causing quite a stir, had sallied forth alone and stood quietly viewing the passing parade.

  And it was at that moment that John had the strangest feeling that all was not well. That something, somewhere was amiss.

  He had had these premonitions before, several times, and knew how dangerous it was to ignore them. He turned to Elizabeth.

  “My dear, will you look after Rose for me? I just want to go and have a look round.”

  She shot him a questioning glance but said nothing. “All right. Of course I will. Will you be long?”

  “About thirty minutes; an hour at the most. I just feel I should. Do you understand?”

  “No, but Rose and I will be all right. Won’t we?” She bent down to the child who, for answer, planted a kiss on her cheek and went on watching the dance.

  “Allow me to do the same,” John said, and briefly embraced the Marchesa. Then, turning, he hurried down Coinage Hall Street towards the fields that lay at the end.

  As he went he tried to rationalise his thoughts. Why should he have had that unwelcome but familiar feeling that all was not well? And what was it that made his footsteps lead him out of town towards the fields that lay at the bottom? He had no answers but only a determination to discover all that he could. He walked on for another ten to fifteen minutes, then stopped, amazed. He was looking at one of the largest lakes he had ever seen in the West Country.

  The Loe Pool - a misnom
er if ever there was one - glinted serenely in the sun, but John had been told that at times the mountainous seas broke over Loe Bar and into the Pool, flooding the Cober Valley as far as Helstone. It was easy to see at those times that the town had once had its own port, but this had silted up long ago and now the nearest point to the sea was Porthleven.

  The place, as far as he could see, was utterly deserted, not a soul about. Wondering how the search for Isobel had concluded, the Apothecary walked slowly round the Pool - a very goodly stretch - wishing that this strange feeling of dread would dissipate. Eventually, though, he tired of wandering aimlessly and set direction for Coinage Hall Street once more. He had reached the bottom of it when he heard the sound of running feet and Tim Painter, sweating slightly and not looking as calm and collected as usual, came panting down.

  “Have you seen Isobel?” he asked abruptly.

  The Apothecary’s fears returned. “Not since this morning, no.”

  “Well the little bitch has vanished and her mother is ina high hysteric. I tell you I’ll wring that child’s neck when I catch up with her.”

  John cast his mind back to the earlier scene, seeing again the look of anguished surprise on the face of the young male dancer and the spiteful expression on that of little Isobel.

  “She went running away towards the meadows and beyond. But I’ve just come from there and there’s nobody around. The place is deserted.”

  “Don’t worry we’ve searched the area high and low and she’s not there. Her mother is even suggesting that some brave chap dives in the Pool and looks for a body.”

  John frowned, thinking to himself that the lake was vast and wondering where a diver would begin.

  Tim looked at the town, which had filled up with even more people since John had left it. “And who are we going to get to do it on a day like this? You can see for yourself that it’s a public holiday,” he said.

  “Have you informed the Constable?”

  “No, not yet. I doubt that he’s on duty either.”

  “Constables are always on duty,” John answered severely. “Well, will you go and find him? I’m too busy searching.” Everything inside the Apothecary rebelled at the very idea but his sense of responsibility battled with the emotion until he eventually said, “Oh all right.”

  “Thanks old chap. I’ll continue the hunt for the horror and she’ll feel the back of my hand when I catch up with her.”

  A good plan,” said John with feeling, and continued up the road.

  Chapter 8

  It seemed that there was to be no let up in the festivities. The dancers continued on, the fiddler now being joined by the rest of his musicians who played the rousing tune with great enthusiasm. The monkey, sent round once more with the hat, returned with it full and, realising it had done well, chattered enthusiastically. John, fighting his way through the crowd, which was building up to enormous proportions, eventually managed to find Elizabeth and Rose.

  “I’m sorry I was so long but something fairly annoying has happened.”

  “What?”

  “I met Tim Painter and Isobel has vanished.”

  “Dreadful child! When was she last seen?”

  “Apparently it was this morning. In fact I witnessed her departure. She flew off down the street towards the meadows and possibly Loe Pool, and has disappeared without trace.”

  “What caused her to go?”

  “She bit one of the Hal-an-Tow men on the hand and I think she was afraid that someone was going to punish her. So she fled, with her mother in hot pursuit I might add.”

  “And now nobody can find her?”

  “Correct. Anyway, I promised Tim that I would tell the Constable for him.”

  Elizabeth pulled a face. “Who is he, do you know?”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t an idea. That’s another bit of research I must undertake.”

  “Well, Rose and I were going off to get refreshment. We can ask along the way.”

  They all set off in the direction John had just come from and by the time they had reached The Angel had discovered that the Constable was a local blacksmith named William Trethowan. They were further informed that he would no doubt be in The Blue Anchor at this hour. John looked apologetic.

  “It’s not really a suitable place for a child. Do you mind if I go alone?”

  “As long as you promise to catch up with me later.”

  “What are you plans?”

  “Rose and I are going to wander through the town and watch the Faddy.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s what they call the line of dancers. I should imagine it comes from old English, when fade meant to go.”

  Rose spoke for the first time. “Well, I’m glad Isobel has faddied. She won’t come and stare at me at night now.”

  “She’ll probably be back before bedtime, but I will make sure she leaves you alone.”

  “She’ll be too tired by then anyway, Papa.”

  “Very true,” said John. He bent down and kissed his daughter. “Look after Mrs Elizabeth for me.” And he was off, heading purposefully for The Blue Anchor. Somewhat to his surprise, he found the Constable straight away. The chap was in the taproom holding forth about something or other and was clearly as drunk as a lord already. Having bought himself a pint of ale to steady his nerves, John approached with certain trepidation. The Constable, who was enormously tall and broad, a veritable giant of a fellow, bent his head down and said, “What do you want, little man?”

  “To speak to you if I may, Sir.”

  Trethowan roared with laughter. “Well, of course you can speak. The question is, will I listen?”

  This brought a chorus of belly laughs from the other occupants of the bar, all of whom were well the worse for drink. John decided that the only thing to do was to act mysteriously.

  “I’ve a tale to tell, Sir. A tale of a terrible child and what might have befallen her.”

  “Taken off by a bad man, was she?” said somebody.

  “Shush,” demanded Trethowan. “I want to hear.”

  Well at least he’d caught his attention, thought John.

  “This girl is a stranger to these parts and went to see the Hal- an-Tow this morning. Anyway, little monster that she is, she insisted on joining in and when the men remonstrated with her she bit one of them on the hand. Then, when they turned on her, she ran down the street in the direction of the fields, possibly towards Loe Pool and hasn’t been seen since. So I thought, Sir, as you are the Constable, you ought to be told.” There was silence in the room for a second and then the blacksmith burst out laughing.

  “So a child has gone missing, has she. I’d like a sovereign for every young “un that gets lost on Flora Day, so I would.” He paused, drank half a tankard of ale in a swallow, then bent down to the Apothecary once more. “Tell you what, my friend, if she’s still lost tomorrow morning then come and see me and I’ll organise a search. Meanwhile, may I suggest that you go and enjoy the rest of the day as I intend to do. Goodbye.” And he turned his large back.

  John felt utterly deflated. His mysterious ploy had failed dismally and now he was left with no alternative but to limp back to The Angel with his tail between his legs. He bought himself another pint of ale for consolation and went to sit in a dark corner to think about the situation. But he had no time to get very far for the door to the taproom opened and there were the brothers Colquite with the two other men the Apothecary had noticed earlier. Snatches of their conversation drifted towards him.

  “…there’s enough to form a…” This last word said very low so that it was impossible to hear.

  “.. .but what about th…” John could not catch the rest. “Nonsense.” This from Geoffrey Colquite. “Let us proceed as planned.”

  “Oh, well you always were…”

  At that moment they were disturbed by the arrival of a potboy and that particular conversation ceased, though one voice continued talking loud and enthusiastic rubbish. John drank up and walke
d out past the quartet. They greeted him as if he were a long-lost brother, calling him over and bowing most politely.

  “My dear Sir, how very nice to see you.”

  “Nice to see you,” echoed Gregory.

  “May I present even more cousins, Eustace Sayce and Herbert Reece?”

  A couple of males rose and bowed. One was short and round with a face like a grinning red melon. He was the one who had been conversing noisily and now he winked at the Apothecary and rolled his eyes. He obviously considered himself a character and wanted everyone else to do so as well. The other was very small, almost dainty, with tiny little hands and feet. They were, all things considered, a very ill matched duo. John bowed politely and made small talk but eventually extricated himself and headed off for The Angel, thinking deeply.

  His main thought was about the actual role of Constable. It was generally a detested occupation, compulsory and unpaid, so much so that several citizens appointed a deputy to do the job for them. This had resulted in the formation of a class of men, mostly illiterate and existing on the pittance paid them by their employers, who had become professional deputies. Some, indeed, held the office for many years, going from one employer to the next as the obligatory year came to an end. And it seemed to the Apothecary that Helstone’s Constable resented the job tremendously. Indeed it may well be true that children were lost during the Floral Dance. Considering the crowds who watched, it seemed more than likely. But for all that, John had found his attitude patronising and pretentious, at the very least he could have organised a search for the missing Isobel.

  John believed that she was probably hiding in the woods near Loe Pool and that she would come out when things got quiet and she grew hungry. The best idea was to enjoy the rest of the day. With this thought uppermost in his mind, he whistled his way into The Angel to discover a scene taking place in the dining parlour. Mrs Pill was in floods of tears and refusing to be comforted by anybody. One look was enough to send John up to his room to fetch his medical bag.

  He returned and studied the situation. Tim Painter had given up and was taking the opportunity to give Diana Warwick, who sat serene and lovely and a little bit remote, the eye. Meanwhile, Elizabeth and Rose watched fascinated but did not attempt to interfere. This was being done by Mrs Legassick, who held the semi-swooning woman in a tight embrace. The female whom John had noticed earlier, namely she of the large frame and succulent eyes, was also comforting Mrs Pill. Indeed she looked up as the Apothecary entered the room, attempting to appear professional.