by Deryn Lake
“I just guessed. As God is my judge, I just knew somehow.”
“How very perceptive of you.”
“What are you insinuating, Sir?”
“I’m insinuating nothing. I am merely pointing out that you are intuitive in your powers of instinct. Tell me, when you found Diana did you guess that someone else had played a part in her death?”
“No, you know damned well I didn’t.”
John decided to change the subject. “Look, Nick, are you fit to go to work? Or would you rather leave it for today?”
“No, I’d prefer to go,” said Kitto, blowing his nose loudly. “It will be far better than my mother bellowing questions at me.”
“So I was right. I’ve just met her talking to the Vicar. You have her colour hair.”
“I hope the similarity ends there,” responded Nick ungraciously.
John did not answer, instead he said, “If you are going to work you will have to hurry.” And young Kitto increased his pace.
They drew to a halt outside the offices of Penaluna Brothers and John held out his hand. “If you feel in need of talking you know where I am staying. But in any event we must converse soon. I shall need to find out everything you saw that early morning.”
“Why?” said Kitto mutinously. “And besides, why should I talk to you? Surely it should be the Constable I converse with.”
It was a question that John had long been dreading and yet was at a loss to answer. In London he could claim quite legitimately that he was working with Sir John Fielding. But here, miles away in Cornwall’s mysterious and cavernous depths, that reply would cut no ice at all. He cleared his throat.
“Let me just say that I have taken part in various investigations into unexplained deaths before.”
“Really,” Nick replied sarcastically.
“Yes, you have my word on it. I work for the Public Office in Bow Street, London.”
“Never heard of it.”
John ran out of patience, despite the man’s obvious misery. “Do you want to help me find who committed this crime or not?”
“Yes, obviously I do.”
“Then stop being so truculent and cooperate. When can we discuss what you saw?”
“Tonight. At eight o’clock, if that would be suitable?”
“Perfectly. I’ll call at your house.”
“Say nothing about your true purpose until Mama has retired.”
“I shall remain silent as the grave,” said John, then regretted it when he saw the expression on Nicholas’s face.
As the Apothecary turned into Coinage Hall Street he heard the rumble of carriage wheels and saw, coming at a remarkable pace, two coaches, one behind the other. Staring within he saw the pale profile of Mrs Pill together with several men, all bearing the same set expressions. So she had returned reinforced with her sibling and servants. The hunt for Isobel was about to recommence.
Arriving at the door of The Angel, John watched them dismount. Kathryn was helped down by a man so like her that he could only be her brother. John thought that in his case the plainness of feature didn’t matter quite so much, cast as it was in a masculine setting. But poor Mrs Pill looked even worse than when he had last seen her; white as a daisy and her lips almost bloodless. She turned to the landlord, who was hovering.
“Have you seen Mr Painter about?”
“No, Mam. He’s gone out I fear.”
“Well there was no way he could have known when I was arriving, I suppose.”
The brother looked grim. “Don’t make excuses for the bounder. He should have been waiting for you.”
John, not wishing to get embroiled in a family disagreement crept on down the road, heading for The Blue Anchor, but was unfortunately spotted.
“Oh Mr Rawlings,” Kathryn cried out, “there you are. This is my brother Jasper Hughes.”
John bowed and said, “How do you do, Sir.”
“May I present John Rawlings. He is an apothecary and has been most tremendously kind to me, as has been his travelling companion, the Marchesa di Lorenzi.”
“I am delighted to meet you, Sir,” said Jasper, bowing back. Meanwhile an aged porter, assisted by the landlord and the bevy of servants accompanying Kathryn and her brother, were carrying in various bags and trunks. She turned to John.
“Tomorrow we start to search this town from top to bottom. Nowhere shall go unnoticed. I am determined to find Isobel.” John looked sombre. “Supposing she is in Loe Pool. Trapped beneath somewhere.”
Jasper spoke. “From what you have told me I think she has been kidnapped.”
Yet again the picture of Gypsy Orchard’s face came vividly into the Apothecary’s mind. “I don’t believe that somehow,” was out of his mouth before he had time to think.
Mrs Pill looked sick. “So you think my daughter is dead?” The Apothecary shuffled his feet. “Well…”
“It’s not fair to quiz the chap so,” said Jasper. “Now Kathryn, my dear, why don’t you rest for a while. The journey has exhausted you. Meanwhile I’ll locate Painter and tell him we are here.”
She turned to John. “Yes, I’ll go and lie down. But please inform the Marchesa of my arrival. She was so kind to me.” The Apothecary bowed, “Certainly Madam.” He said to Jasper, “I think I know where he might be if you would care to accompany me.”
“I was going to suggest that you give me a tour of the town, Sir.”
“I will certainly do so later. But first I must speak to the Marchesa and also to my daughter. I was out before either of them were up.”
“But of course. I shall wash the stains of the journey from my person and meet you outside in thirty minutes if that is acceptable.”
“Perfectly.”
John walked into the entrance hall and was pleasantly surprised to see the Marchesa and Rose, dressed for the street and about to take the air. Elizabeth shot him one of her amused glances.
“Up early I see.”
“I’ve much to tell. But first a message. Mrs Pill is back with her brother and several male servants.”
“I shall seek her out later.”
Rose piped up. “Have they come to look for Isobel?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“But she’s drowned, isn’t she?”
“I think so, yes.”
The Marchesa lowered her voice. “Have you seen any of the men that Betty mentioned?”
“Only Nick.”
“And how is he?”
“Weeping and hollering fit to burst.”
“Is it to cover guilt?”
“I’ll let you know later.”
He escorted the two females to the door and walked a little way up the street with them. Then he turned and sauntered back to the inn where, after a few minutes, Jasper Hughes joined him and they made their way to The Blue Anchor. Very much as John had suspected and despite the earliness of the hour, Tim Painter was standing by the bar, holding forth to a group of cronies.
What happened next was so quick that nobody was prepared for it. On seeing him, Jasper entirely lost control and flew to where the man stood.
“You damnable bastard,” he shouted, and with that swung a fist into Painter’s handsome face.
“Eh?” croaked Tim, and having said that plunged to the floor where he lay motionless.
“Good God!” exclaimed John, and fetching his salts from his pockets knelt down by Painter’s prostrate form. Jasper, wiping his hands on his sides, calmly stepped over them.
“A jug of ale, if you please,” he said, and smiled benignly at the world.
Chapter 19
It had all been so quick that for a moment no one in the room, with the exception of John Rawlings, said a word. Then a rumble of remonstrance came from the lips of Tim’s cohorts. “What “oo done hit him for?”
“Aye. That’s what I’d like to know.”
Jasper eyed them. “I downed him because he is a trifler with women’s affections. And the woman with whom he is currently involved happens to be my sister.”
He looked down at where the Apothecary knelt at Tim’s side. “My dear chap, don’t waste your valuable time. He’ll come round soon enough.”
John shook his head. “Whatever one may think of him he is temporarily my patient. And I am therefore obliged to do my duty.”
“Don’t get into high stirrup over him. He’s not worth the trouble.” Jasper drank his ale. Allow me to buy you a drink, old fellow.”
“Not just now. It’s a bit early.”
“You’re sounding a regular prat, Sir, and I’m sure you are not.” John stood up. “No, I don’t think I am, though others may, of course. But forgive me if I attend to Painter. I agree with you he’s a shiftless creature but for all that he’s a human being.” From the floor came sounds of groaning and John crouched down once more. With a flutter of eyelids Tim was regaining consciousness. His handsome gaze looked round, a glazed expression in its depths.
“What am I doing down here?” he said. Then memory returned and he fixed Jasper with a glare. “You filthy bastard Hughes. I’ll be revenged for this.”
“You already have, damn you.”
“Wfoat do you mean by that?”
“You did for little Isobel, didn’t you? You’ve always hated the girl and made no secret of it. Now you’ve got rid of her, you devil.”With some assistance from the Apothecary, Tim scrambled to his feet. “How dare you make such accusations?”
“Because they’re the truth. You’ve always considered the child in the way and now the way is clear.”
Somewhat shakily Tim rose to his full height, an impressive sight. “Will you come outside, Sir?”
“What for?” said Hughes insolently, ordering another pint. “Because I intend to give you the thrashing you richly deserve.”
“You? You wouldn’t last five minutes.”
But Jasper got no further. A scream rang out from the doorway. Every head turned to see Kathryn, even paler, crying and wringing her hands.”
“Oh stop it for pity’s sake. I have lost my child and now I am to lose the man I care for. Oh Jasper, don’t step outside I beg you.”
Tim shot her a look of pure surprise. “What makes you think that he’d best me? It’s I who challenged him. I intend to beat him within a mile of an oak.”
She rushed up to him and quite literally threw herself into his arms. “Oh darling, cease such talk. You two are all I have left in the world.”
John decided that the conversation was getting nowhere. “Why don’t the pair of you -“ He indicated Mrs Pill and Tim Painter. step back to The Angel. I shall remain and take up Mr Hughes’s kind offer of a drink.”
She and Painter looked at one another, she pleading, he uncertain, then Tim gave an elegant gesture. “Very well. I withdraw my challenge.”
Jasper shrugged his shoulders. “All the same to me whether you do or you don’t. But out of respect for my sister I’ll comply.” He turned to John. “What would you like, my friend?”
“A glass of claret if you please.”
“Landlord, a glass of the best.”
A silence settled over the inn once the lovers, if one could indeed call them that, had departed. John leant forward.
“Do you really think Tim murdered Isobel?”
Jasper, onto his third pint of ale despite the early hour, said, “I believe it is certainly possible.”
“But why? What motive could he have?”
“Money,” whispered Jasper sibilantly.
“What do you mean?”
“Simply this. As Kathryn’s only heir Isobel stood to inherit a small fortune when her mother died. Tim Painter would have got less. But with the girl out of the way he is going to be very rich.”
“But suppose he dies before Mrs Pill?”
Jasper leant close to John’s ear. “I feel positive that it might have been arranged for my sister to go to an early grave.”
So they were back to the oldest motive in the world. John considered it, wondering whether Isobel had been disposed of by Tim Painter, thrown into Loe Pool tied down with a weight. Further he considered Diana and her strange death. But what motive could there have been for that? Unless she and Tim had known one another before. Yet one could say that of every man who visited her that night. Painter, Lord Godolphin, the Gaffer, they had all three paid her a call. As for Nick, had he perhaps caught her in the arms of another and decided then and there to do away with her, creeping in first thing in the morning and putting a pillow over her face while she slept?
Yet somehow what Nicholas said rang true. Knowing that he must keep an open-mind, John none the less felt that the answer lay somewhere with the other three. Desperately requiring the assistance of Sir John Fielding’s acute brain, he determined to write and post a letter to him this very day.
He bowed to Jasper Hughes. “Sir, will you forgive me if I leave you? I have to see my companion and my daughter as well as needing to write some letters.”
“Certainly, old man. Sure you can’t manage another?””Thank you, but no. I’ll say goodbye.”
But Jasper had already turned away and was ordering more ale. It seemed to John as he left the building that the man must have the constitution of a bull. Which was more than could be said of his sister, poor thing, particularly when it came to her choice of men.
No sooner was he outside than he spotted Elizabeth and Rose perambulating slowly down the other side of the street. He called and waved his hat and they heard him and stopped walking. Rushing across, John joined them.
The Marchesa looked at him in a rather odd manner, John thought. But she followed this with one of her spectacular smiles and he felt in harmony with her again. That is until she spoke.
“John, my dear, Rose and I have been talking.”
“Yes?” he said, instantly suspicious.
“And we have decided, if you are agreeable, to go back to Devon and leave you to your investigation.” The Marchesa lowered her voice. “Truth to tell, the child is getting bored as there is precious little here for her to do. I think it would be better all round if we returned home. There she has her pony and other children I can call on, to say nothing of the delights of Exeter. So what do you think?”
John felt stunned and terribly hurt. Had he not after all done his best in every way to keep Elizabeth happy? But no, that was clearly not good enough. Then he felt saddened by the thought of Rose growing bored and depressed. He bent down to her.
“Are you tired of this place. Rose?”
“I am a little.”
“But you loved it when we first came here.”
“Then there was the Furry Dance to look forward to. And besides there was Wilkes.”
“Wilkes?” repeated her father, thinking of the politician.
“Yes, the monkey. He had such a thoughtful face.”
Despite what he was feeling, the Apothecary could not helpbut laugh. He straightened up.
“It seems that whatever I say the decision has been made,” he said.
Elizabeth looked a little annoyed. “I was thinking of your daughter’s wellbeing, Sir.”
“And only that?” asked John childishly.
“Certainly. What other reason could there be?”
“Perhaps that you too are feeling constrained by Helstone.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I am. But I would have stayed on were it not for Rose.”
“I see.” He bent down to his child once more. “Would you be happier in Mrs Elizabeth’s house, sweetheart? Tell me truly.”
“Yes, Papa, I would. There’s so much more to do there.”
“Then of course you must go.” He looked up at Elizabeth, presenting a cold face. “When will you be leaving?”
“First thing tomorrow morning if that is agreeable.”
He shrugged. “Do as you wish.” Standing straight he said, “And now if you will excuse me I have some urgent letters to write. Good day.” And he stalked away feeling more displeased than he had in an age.
Crossing the road he went into The Angel and
was just making for the guests” parlour when he was waylaid by Tim Painter.
“Thanks for coming to my rescue, old chap.”
“Think nothing of it. I only did my duty. Where’s Mrs Pill by the way?”
“Lying down. This would be a great opportunity to have a drink. Will you join me?”
The Apothecary, who had had no breakfast, thought that if people continued to ply him with alcohol he would probably end up drunk or dead, or both. Yet, on the other hand it was an excellent chance to speak to Tim on his own.
“Very well. I have a half hour or so.”
He followed Painter into the tap room which fortunately was deserted other than for a couple of workingmen, clearly not working. Leading the way to a quiet corner, John sat down.
“Have you heard of Sir John Fielding?” he said abruptly. “The Blind Beak? Yes, I’ve been up before him,” Tim replied nonchalantly.
The Apothecary was so surprised that he practically dropped his glass.
“You’ve what?”
“I said I was up at Bow Street.”
“What for?”
“Some damnable Duchess - old as the hills but still rampant for a man - accused me of stealing her diamonds, would you believe.”
“And had you?”
“Of course not. I’d my eye on greater things than a few paltry stones.”
“What?”
“Her fortune, you foolish fellow. The old Duke had died and left her every penny he had. I was introduced to her at a ball and the rest you can guess. But some footman or other told her I was a thief and she lodged a charge at me at Bow Street.” John swigged his drink. “What happened?”
“I came up before the Beak — looked on by every member of the beau monde it seemed to me, for they were packing the public galleries - and he said there was insufficient evidence to condemn me. So I sallied forth from the dock and shortly after that I met Kathryn.”
He smiled, displaying a set of perfect white teeth.
John said, “I, too, know Sir John but in rather a different context.”
“Oh? What is that?”
“I occasionally work for him, solving murder cases. Years ago I was a suspect in a murder which I eventually helped him to unravel. Since then he has called on me for help from time to time.”