by Deryn Lake
“Was that the wicked man?” asked Rose.
“Yes, sweetheart. That was him.”
“Can we come out of hiding now?”
“He’s gone, so yes we can.”
As they trotted into the late May sunshine, John’s daughter said, “I enjoyed that.”
“What?”
“Hiding. It was exciting.”
The Apothecary looked at her in amazement. Most children would have been afraid of suddenly being told to take cover in the trees, might even have burst into tears. But not Rose. She was truly his daughter, a daughter to be proud of. With the thought of having many years to watch her grow and develop, John Rawlings burst into song as he continued his ride round Loe Pool.
With Elizabeth gone he was naturally going to find the evenings more difficult to organise. Having given the thumb-sucking little maid a handsome tip to check on Rose every half-hour once the child had retired for the night, John made his way to the taproom. There, sitting looking somewhat doleful, was his erstwhile travelling companion, Tim Painter.
“Ah, my dear friend, how goes it?” the Apothecary enquired cheerfully.
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” Tim responded gloomily.
Are you now,” John answered. He had been half-expecting the reply yet still it came as something of a shock. “How have you persuaded Mrs Pill to go?” he added.
“She has finally given up hope.”
“She has accepted the fact that Isobel is dead?”
Tim nodded silently.
“I’d like to see her before she leaves,” John said.
“She’s dining late with her beastly brother.”
“How are you going to live like that in future? The man clearly detests you.”
Tim turned his handsome eyes in the Apothecary’s direction. “Not as much as I detest him. But to answer your question, who knows what lies ahead?”
John looked at him with shrewd amusement. “What are you saying to me?”
“Just that. Kathryn and I are together for the moment.”
John could not help but laugh. “Are you saying that if something better were to present itself then you would be off? Have you no shame, Sir?”
“None at all, I’m delighted to say.”
“But surely the poor woman has done a great deal for you.”
“And so have I for her,” Tim protested. “After all she was pretty short of suitors after the death of old man Pill. Then I came along.”
“Oh happy chance,” said the Apothecary, and raised a dark eyebrow.
Still the thought of their imminent departure left him with a great deal to do. Plunging his face into his wine glass, John thought rapidly.
The blind fiddler was still in town, as was Lord Godolphin. Nick Kitto was sulking miserably in his home but was easily reachable. Tim Painter was currently sitting beside him. John thought frantically of some excuse to get them all together but came up with nothing. Then Tim said nonchalantly, “Fancy a game of cards?”
“Why not?” John answered, then he said, “Shall I go and find some more who’d like to play?”
Tim looked surprised. “Yes, if you can raise anyone. It would be amusing to gamble the night away.”
“I’ll see who I can discover. Listen, I shall have to leave for a short while. Can you listen out for my daughter? She’s fast asleep but it is possible she could wake up.”
A foxy grin crossed Tim’s face. “Not so easy without your light-o-love, is it?”
“No,” John answered with feeling. “It’s not so easy.”
Chapter 27
Walking purposefully, the Apothecary went up the road then down Church Street, all the time turning over in his mind the names of the men who had visited Diana Warwick on the night she had been killed. Indeed he was just conjecturing what excuse he could possibly use to lure Lord Godolphin to play cards with a handful of ordinary citizens when, as good fortune would have it, he saw the man leaving the doctor’s house. Sprinting to catch up before his lordship got into his coach, John arrived panting and gasping just as Lord Godolphin put his foot on the step. Turning, he saw the Apothecary.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said.
“Yes, Sir. How are you?” John answered, not being able to think of anything else to say.
“My damnable gout is playing up again. Not that it’s any business of yours, mark you.”
Putting on his honest citizen face, the Apothecary gave him a sincere look. “Oh but it is my business, Sir. I prescribed a remedy for you. I hope it worked.”
“It worked well enough, thank you. But as you will be leaving us soon I have returned to my doctor.”
“I have enjoyed meeting you, Sir. In fact it has been one of the highlights of my trip.” John was getting desperate and thought that the only thing he could do was to act like a sycophant, much as it went against the grain.
“I’m delighted to hear it. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
“I will excuse you, Sir. But first I must ask you a favour…an enormous favour. Would you allow me to buy you a drink in The Angel?”
His lordship heaved himself up into his coach, leaving John in the undignified position of leaning in through the conveyance’s door.
“Just a little drink,” continued the Apothecary sweetly, thinking he was about to be sick, the words were sticking in his mouth so badly.”Oh very well. I shall see you there in a quarter of an hour. I have another call to make first.”
“I am your servant, My Lord.” And John bowed low. The minute the coach had drawn away however, he straightened up and removed the sickly grin from his face. Adopting a much more determined expression, he headed straight for the home of Nicholas Kitto. An ancient retainer answered the door this time and was still asking John who he wanted to see when Nick himself came into the hall.
“Oh it’s you,” he said, using identical words to Lord Godolphin.
“Yes, as you see,” John answered. He held out his hand. “Nicholas, let our quarrel be at an end for pity’s sake — and for mine. I’ve come to invite you to have a drink with me and maybe play cards. It will do you good to get out.”
Nick turned a morose face in his direction. “I feel at the moment that I wouldn’t care if I never ventured forth again.”
“Well I’d be obliged if you could make an effort tonight. I shall be off in the next few days and would like to think that we parted on good terms.”
Nick shuffled from foot to foot, then looked up. John knew at once that the fellow was desperate to leave the house and was longing for an excuse.
“I’ll have to think about it,” he said slowly.
The Apothecary put on his no-nonsense face. “I’m afraid that won’t do, my friend. You’ll oblige me and say yes immediately. I’m determined to have a little gathering before my departure. Lord Godolphin will be there,” he added.
“Oh very well then,” said Nicholas, quite promptly.
“Good. Then I’ll meet you at The Angel in quarter of an hour. There’s just one other person I want to invite to my party. I’ll bid you farewell.”
And with that he had turned on his heel and hurried back up the street before Nick could change his mind.
He found the band in The Blue Anchor, playing, as was their wont, to please the other customers and at the same time make a few pennies to pay for drinks. The sound was a great deal noisier and more cheerful than the one they had made at the funeral. Without hesitation John went straight up to the Gaffer as soon as they had finished the rendition of their jolly air.
“My dear Sir,” he said, “we meet again.”
“Mr Rawlings, isn’t it?” asked the Cornish fiddler with that strange perception that blind people seem to have.
“The very same.”
John bowed and the Gaffer did likewise. “What can I do for
“ee, Sir?”
“You can come and play at a little gathering I am organising at The Angel.”
“When, Sir.”
“In ten minutes or
so.”
“That’s very short notice, Sir. Now, will you be wanting all of us or is it just me?”
“I thought just you.” John leant closer and whispered in his ear, surrounded as it was by black locks and swarthy beard.
“Oh I see,” said the Gaffer, when the Apothecary was done. “It’s a sprat to catch a mackerel, is it?”
“I hope so. But then, who can tell? Nothing may come out at all.”
The blind fiddler turned towards John just as if he could see. “You’re a wise young man, Mr Rawlings. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“There have been one or two in the past, yes.”
“So there should have been.” The Gaffer turned to his band. “Listen lads, I’ll be leaving you for a while. I’m going to play at a little gathering of gentlemen up at The Angel. You stay here and entertain the folk. Right?”
“Are you getting paid, Gaffer?”
“I am getting well rewarded, never fear.”
And the Cornish fiddler winked an unseen eye at the Apothecary.
Lord Godolphin was alighting from his coach as John and the Gaffer made their way, arm in arm, up to the hostelry door. His lordship raised his quizzing glass.
“Oh it’s you, my good man. I wondered who could be perambulating up the street in that odd manner.”
“Yes it’s me, Sir,” John answered. “The fiddler is coming to play for us while we drink and play cards.”
“Cards, is it? You didn’t tell me that.”
“Would you be so kind as to make up the fourth, my Lord?”
“I don’t see why not,” Lord Godolphin answered jovially, and John suspected that the man might have a weakness for gambling.
Hurrying into the taproom where Nick had now joined Tim Painter, John ushered the men into one of the snugs and took over the one and only table. Seeing a card party setting up, the other occupants left the room, thus giving them the privacy they needed. Standing a little apart the blind fiddler started to play very softly.
John handed the cards to Lord Godolphin and asked him to deal.
“Shall we play whist, gentlemen?”
“Certainly,” replied Nick, and there were noises of assent from the others.
Wondering how he was going to broach the subject of Diana Warwick and the night on which she died, John - a bad card player at the best of times - could scarcely concentrate on his hand. It was clear from the outset that Tim and his lordship were both exceptionally good players, however, and soon the Apothecary and young Kitto found themselves hopelessly outclassed. Tim executed a Bath coup which Lord Godolphin countered, thus winning the rubber. There was a general exclamation and they paused to recharge their glasses.
“Gentlemen,” John began, “I had a motive in inviting you all here tonight. It was.
But he got no further. There was the sound of pounding feet coming along the corridor, then the door burst open. Framed in the entrance was the figure of William Trethowan, the constable.
“Mr Rawlings,” he panted, out of breath. “Can you come at once. There’s a ritual going on close by Loe Pool.”
John leapt to his feet while the others turned startled faces in the direction of the speaker.
“It’s a witches coven,” the Apothecary said by way of explanation. “I came across them in Redruth and now they have obviously made their way here.”
“I’ll come to Loe Pool with you,” Tim stated without hesitation.
“Me too,” said Nick Kitto, rising.
“I may as well join you all,” Lord Godolphin remarked majestically.
“There’s no time to waste.” This from Trethowan. “We must catch them in the act and then I can charge and arrest them.”
“I’ll call for my coach,” said his lordship.
But the others had already left, running behind the Constable down Coinage Hall Street to the countryside beyond.
“I’m glad there’s a few of you, Sir,” William remarked, as he sped down the road beside the Apothecary.
Are there a lot of them then?”
“About twenty I think. I didn’t have time to count exactly.”
“You’re going to need all the help you can get in that case.”
“I’ve a few men hidden up there but not nearly enough.” They had left the little town behind them and were making their way through the open land towards the Pool, following the course of the River Cober. Faintly, borne on the breeze, could be detected the sound of chanting.
Beside him John felt Nick stiffen. “Can you hear that?”
“It’s them all right,” Tim answered him meaningfully. Avoiding the marshland and bearing to the left they could see the glint of water through the trees. And there, up on the hill, shaded from Penrose House by parkland but standing almost immediately opposite it, was the dwelling belonging to Lord Lyle.
“The ritual is taking place in the woods,” whispered the Constable, pointing.
“Did you see it?” asked John.
“I climbed up a little way. There’re some old ruins in the grounds. It’s being held inside them.”
“Like Redruth,” the Apothecary answered grimly.
They had reached the fork in the road and began the ascent to the house. Wondering where Lord Godolphin had got to, John climbed upward. The sound of the chanting was growing louder, blotting out the distant voice of the sea, and he was filled with a sense of unreasonable terror. Glad to have stout companions, he continued the march uphill. And then panic broke out. There was a scream from one of the Constable’s assistants who began to run downwards as fast as the others were coming up.
Breaking through their ranks, he bellowed, “He’s after me. Oh God help me. He’s after me.”
Chaos broke out. The four men ascending, namely the Constable, John, Tim Painter and Nick, stood their ground but the other fellows, ordinary men of Helstone who had been dragooned into helping Trethowan, broke ranks and started to scurry downwards.
“Stop!” bellowed the Constable, but to no avail. The volunteers, thoroughly frightened, were heading off as fast as they could go in the direction of town.
John turned to Trethowan. “What shall we do?”
“There are just the four of us, Sir. We won’t have a hope against that lot.”
“You’re right,” said Tim Painter promptly. “Let’s return and have some claret.”
“And make a plan,” said Nick.
“Yes,” answered John, relieved in a way. “I think it would be best if we got out of here.”
It appeared that Lord Godolphin had started off in pursuit of his card-playing friends and had then lost a coach wheel at the bottom of Coinage Hall Street. Indeed it was being repaired as the quartet made their way back to The Angel. It was clear thathis lordship had given up the chase early in the day and had made his way back to the snug where he had sunk a bottle of wine without any difficulty whatsoever. He looked up as the others came in.
“Tally ho, gentlemen. Did you track down the wrongdoers?”
“No, Sir,” answered Trethowan, suddenly very formal. “There was a commotion at the other end and my assistants ran away. We had no option but to follow.”
“A commotion, eh? What was all that about?”
“I questioned one of them on the way back and he said he saw the ghost of Parson Jago mounted on horseback.”
“Parson Jago?” interrupted John, for the clerk of Bow Street court was also called Jago, an old friend of the Apothecary’s.
“We’ve had several parsons of that name hereabouts. And there’s a legend that one of them could exorcise ghosts and to this day can still be seen mounted on his mare,” answered his lordship.
“What a strange coincidence.” And John related the story of his acquaintanceship with the clerk.
“Jago is a Cornish name,” said Nick Kitto. “It means James.”
“Well, well. I never knew that.”
“You must ask him whether he comes from these parts.”
“I will indeed.”
“I’ll give you a plan,” said Lord Godolphin, thumping the table with his fist. “I’ll call on Lyle tomorrow and ask what the devil he’s playing at.”
“Forgive me, Sir, but I think that would be dangerous,” said Trethowan seriously.
“Damn foolhardy,” put in Tim, who had taken a seat and been pouring himself glasses of claret with great enthusiasm. “Then what shall we do?”
“I think we should raid the house in force and look for evidence.”
“You won’t find any,” John replied. “They’re too clever for that.”
L”Then, Sir, what do you suggest?”
“We’ve got to catch them at it. In fact we missed a great opportunity tonight. I wonder what it was your man saw, by the way.”
“Perhaps he truly saw Parson Jago. Perhaps the ritual conjured him up.”
“You can’t believe such superstitious nonsense.”
Lord Godolphin spoke. “Cornwall is alive with legends and ghost stories. They are as old as time. You would do well to mark them, Rawlings.”
The laugh that John had been about to give froze on his lips when he saw the serious expressions of both his lordship and William Trethowan, and he thought again of Gypsy Orchard. “I’ll try my hardest, Sir,” he answered contritely.
“Well, I’d best be getting back. I’ll consult with you in the morning, gentlemen.”
“Excellent plan,” said Tim, pouring himself another glass. “If I say I am on special duties I might be able to delay my departure.”
“I leave that to you, Sir. Good night.”
And Trethowan made to go out but was interrupted by the thumb-sucking maid. “Oh, Sir,” she said to John, your little girl is awake - and she’s frightened.”
The Apothecary cursed himself. In the excitment of the dash to the Loe he had forgotten entirely that Rose had returned and was lying asleep upstairs. Before anyone could question him he had left the room and gone up the flight two at a time. He could hear her crying quietly before he even opened the door.
“Oh Papa,” she said as soon as she saw him, and she jumped out of bed and hurled herself into his arms.