by Deryn Lake
He came to lying in a bale of hay. Someone was putting a wet cloth on his forehead and there was an overpowering smell of horses everywhere. John opened his eyes with caution and found that he was just outside a loose box, the resident of which was looking at him with a wild, suspicious glare. Looking in the other direction John saw Jacob O’Farrell kneeling on the cobbles and swishing a piece of material about in a bucket.
‘Jake,’ croaked John, at which the other swung round, showing eyelids puffed up with weeping but definitely not the owner of the demonic eyes that had sent him flying backwards.
‘John,’ came the reply. ‘How the hell did you get here? And in this terrible state?’
‘I was on my way to see you, my dear fellow, when someone knocked me down the stairs with a hell of a thump.’
‘Was it a case of mistaken identity, do you think? Was it me they were after?’
John nursed his jaw. ‘No, I don’t believe so. Look, Jake, be straight with me, please. Did you have anything to do with Demelza’s death?’
‘No. I swear by all the saints and on my mother’s life that I did not.’
‘Would you like to tell me the whole story of your relationship with her?’
‘It would be a relief to confide in someone. But first, let me get you back upstairs.’
They slowly ascended the creaking staircase and Jake, having seated John in an armchair, himself opposite, began to talk.
‘As you have probably guessed by now, we were never married. I was just a humble boy from the backstreets of Dublin and I went to England to try to find work. I’d always had a way with horses – used to murmur to them, you know. Anyway, to cut to the heart of it, I was employed by old Lord Conway as head groom. He had a mistress living in the house at the time, a very lovely creature with a well-turned ankle. He had a heart attack – literally blue in the face and not a breath in him – when she upped and married his son, a nasty bit of work with dark looks and a darker heart.’
‘Was her name Moll Bowling?’
Jake turned a haunted face on him. ‘It might have been once. But to me she was always Demelza.’
‘Sorry. I made a mistake. I thought …’
But Jake was speaking again. ‘She soon regretted that. He used to beat her, black and blue. Many’s the time I would like to have landed a fist in his face but she persuaded me otherwise. Anyway, I had the last laugh. Or did I?’ Jake’s voice broke and he gave an audible sob. ‘He is after me, John. When I got back here from my drunken night I found the place ransacked. Somebody was looking for something. Her husband must have followed us to Boston and arrived first because of the shipwreck.’
‘Him – or somebody else,’ the Apothecary answered thoughtfully.
‘But who?’ Jake answered in all innocence, and John realized with a shock that Demelza’s lover had known nothing about her being a spy, that the man had been totally unaware of his sweetheart’s secret life. But somebody, probably known to them all, had known of it and had not only made contact but had, presumably, sent her to her death as well.
John rose to his feet, swaying slightly, but Jake was instantly at his side.
‘You’re not fit to stand, man. Come with me. I’ll get a horse from the stable and take you home.’
They rode off into a night lit by stars and the lights from the camp on the Common, John clinging on to Jake’s back as tightly as he could. Jake, showing that he really did have some secret way with horses, encouraged the beast, striving under the weight of two men to enter the festering streets of the North End and clip its way through until they reached the house that John was sharing with Suzanne.
‘What about your twins?’ Jake asked.
‘I have taken Blue Wolf on as my servant. He will care for them. Will you come in for a minute and see them?’
TWENTY
They walked into a sleeping house, John taking a look in the bedroom to check that his sons were there. They slept like two dark-haired angels, incredibly resembling their mother at that moment, yet John could see his chin and the setting of his eyes in them.
Blue Wolf was awake, sitting by the fire, his black hair hanging round his face, shutting off his expression. He looked up as the two men entered the parlour. John wondered, just for a minute, how long he had been there. If, perhaps, he had handed the twins over to a motherly neighbour and gone stalking through the streets on his own. Then he felt ashamed of himself. He was beginning to suspect everyone of deceit. And was he himself not deceiving Jake by omitting all the truth about the late Demelza?
It was time to tell the facts and John said, ‘Jake, I haven’t told you everything about Demelza. There is more.’
Jake gave a gruff laugh. ‘If you mean about her early life, I know it. She came from humble origins, as did I. She made her way on to the stage and her real name was indeed Moll Bowling, though how you found out I’ll never comprehend. She admitted all that to me.’
‘Did she tell you that she was a spy?’
Jake stared blankly. ‘What? How in God’s name do you know that?’
‘Because of this.’ And John produced the letter he had found from inside an inner pocket. Jake sat down heavily and read it through, once fast, then more slowly, digesting its contents.
‘Where did you find this?’
John looked shamefaced. ‘From your rooms above the coach house. Believe me, Jake, it was not me who left your home in disarray. When you told me that your place had been roughly searched that was not by me. That was somebody else looking for something or other. I would not lie to you about this. That man, whoever he is, was coming again for another look but met me on the stairs and decided that the coast wasn’t clear.’
Jake’s face had drained of colour as he said hoarsely, ‘But who was she spying for?’
‘I think the Americans. You know that she was born in Boston?’
Jake nodded.
‘I believe that her family must have reckoned the Colonists should be free and the idea never left her.’
‘Are you saying to me that somebody from the British side is working out here?’
‘Yes.’
‘And that they killed her?’
‘Of that we can’t be certain.’
Blue Wolf stood up at this point and said, ‘I am sorry for your loss, Jake, but you must consider that your wife has gone to join her ancestors.’ He turned to John. ‘Now I will leave you.’
Jake smiled. ‘What is it you do all night, wandering the streets of Boston?’
The Indian gave him a sorrowful look. ‘I go into the forests and become my own person once more. Goodbye, John, and thank you.’
And with those enigmatic words he went out of the room, leaving the two men to stare at one another, wondering exactly what he meant.
TWENTY-ONE
Early the next morning John was awoken by a gentle but persistent knocking on his front door. The twins, who were up, still in their nightshirts, opened it to admit Jane Hawthorne, scrubbed and neat as ever, trim as a clipped hedge and smiling a little uncertainly. John, who had pulled a robe over his night attire, came down the stairs, yawning.
‘Good morning, Mr Rawlings. I apologise for calling at this early hour but I wondered if you could use an extra nanny for your boys.’
‘My dear girl, have you had the sack? What of Lady Eawiss?’
‘She is shortly to marry Major Roebuck and will no longer need my services. In short, she has found another slavey to obey her every whim.’
‘Well, I can’t say that I am sorry. But come in, come in. We can’t chat on the doorstep.’
He ushered her inside and into a chair, then brewed some coffee while she talked to him through the open door to the small kitchen.
‘Tell me more of Major Roebuck.’
‘He is a martyr to gout and presently has a foot swathed in bandages which he has to rest on a stool. As he is an army doctor it is a bit of a pitiable condition. But he had heard of Milady’s fortune and had a rank sufficiently high for
her to consider marriage. So she has found a black girl who will obviously work for her for nothing. And I have been given my marching orders.’
‘But you know that Blue Wolf works for me.’
‘He has left you, alas. Did he not say farewell to you last night?’
John came back into the small parlour, a cup of coffee in each hand. ‘He said farewell but I merely thought he was going out.’
Jane smiled – a rather sly little smile. ‘I am afraid not. He has gone back to join his tribe. His father is unwell.’
‘Is it true that you married him in some native ceremony?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she answered matter-of-factly. ‘My name is now Silver Fox and one day he will send for me and I will go and live with him and become his squaw.’
‘And you will like that?’
‘Yes, for the first time in my life I have been given love. So what could I do but return it?’
‘You could have said no.’
‘I did not wish to,’ Jane answered, and dropped her gaze from John’s enquiring eyes.
‘Did you ever find any relatives here in Boston?’ he asked, changing the subject.
‘Yes, but now they are dead. I should say unfortunately but they did not turn out as I expected. So, my friend, I come to throw myself on your mercy.’
‘Of course, Jane, it would be a pleasure for you to come and work here even if it is only till you hear the call of the wild.’
At this Jasper and James, who had clearly been listening, hiding themselves on the stairs, burst in and howled like wolves – or their interpretation of them anyway.
John stood up. ‘Well, that seems to have settled something or other. Now, Jane, if you could supervise my two rascals getting to school for their last day, I must go and fetch Rose. The school breaks for Christmas this morning.’
She gave him a little curtsey and said, ‘It will be a pleasure, Sir. A great deal better than Lady Eawiss shouting for a clean chamber pot to be brought at once.’
He nodded. ‘I can well imagine. But I really must go and dress.’
He had only visited the tailor twice since he had been in Boston and had ordered several outfits to be made for him, one of which was a top coat in a shade of damask rose and matching breeches. The coat had been entwined with golden embroidery and this morning John, rather daringly, put it on, hoping to cut a fine figure in front of the other parents. Hurrying to the Orange Tree, he gave rapid instructions to young Tristram and then set out with a brisk pace towards the Common. His head was aching slightly but he took deep breaths and went towards Coralie’s establishment determined to overcome any minor discomfort. On arrival some time later, he went straight to the barn at the back where the pupils were assembling, waiting for their guardians to collect them. Coralie, looking very becoming in a violet ensemble, stood in their midst, kissing each child goodbye.
She turned to John. ‘My dear, how nice to see you. What a pleasant surprise.’
He stared at her blankly. ‘I’ve come to fetch Rose. Is she not here?’
‘No, she left last night with Miss Sopwith, a friend of yours.’
John frowned. ‘But Rose did not come home. Besides, I don’t know anyone of that name.’
‘How extraordinary. The woman came at about eight o’clock last night and Rose seemed to recognize her or else I would not have let her go. But she brought with her a letter authorizing her to take charge of your daughter while you were indisposed.’
‘Do you have it still?’
‘Yes, in my house. I’ll get it immediately.’
Coralie must have run, sensing John’s rising panic, and a few minutes later thrust the document into his hand. He read:
Dear Madame Clive,
It would oblige me if Rose could be sent home tonight. I regret that I am unwell and will be unable to fulfil the duty tomorrow. Miss Sopwith is an old friend and can be trusted completely with my daughter’s safety.
I am, Madam, your obedient servant,
John Rawlings
He turned on her a stricken face. ‘But how could you, Coralie? Did the letter not reek of a forgery?’
She had blanched white as a snowdrop and regarded him with tears just visible in her eyes. ‘I thought it formally worded but not overly so.’
‘But the signature,’ John answered, his voice shaking, ‘did you not question that? Good God woman, it is nothing like mine.’
She erupted then, tears and fear combining. ‘Oh, heaven have mercy, what have I done? Oh, I would rather be dead than do anything to hurt Rose. I love the girl as if she were my own child.’
John turned his head away but already his agile mind was beginning to sort the facts. This was obviously the work of an enemy – but who? Then he thought of the face that had peered at him out of the shadows in the coach house the previous evening and knew at once that he was a pawn in an altogether bigger game and that his daughter was the means by which they could get to him. He could immediately rule out Jake and Blue Wolf. Then, even as he thought this, he knew that whoever it was had the mysterious Miss Sopwith working with them and so the blame could have fallen on any one of the people who had survived the shipwreck and walked with him through the backwoods of the Colonies in order to arrive at Boston.
He turned back to face Coralie and put his hands on the tops of her arms. ‘Don’t cry, sweetheart. Just tell me everything that happened and what the woman looked like.’
She raised her lovely, sorrowful face to his. ‘If only I didn’t feel so guilty. I could die with the shame.’
Feeling immensely irritated, John somehow controlled himself. ‘Oh, come on, Coralie, do. Crying is not going to help matters. Describe the woman.’
‘Well, she was short and quite dark of features but her hood was up and she kept her face well hidden from me. I remember her eyes, though. They were a deep brown, the colour of melted chocolate.’
‘Anything else? How did she speak?’
‘With a Bostonian accent. But, of course, that could have been adopted for the purpose of deception.’
‘Your description of her eyes does not match anyone of my acquaintance.’
‘Nor mine. But please believe me, John, I would never have allowed Rose out of my sight if it had not been a good trick.’
He sighed. ‘I do believe you. But I beg you in future to be more wary. I will return home now to see if there are any clues as to her whereabouts.’
‘Take me with you.’
‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘You have your other pupils to look after. Your place is with them.’
She looked so sad that the Apothecary relented a little. ‘Be of stout heart, sweetheart. I shall keep you informed, never fear.’
And with that he walked away, feeling that he would lose his composure if he stayed another minute.
He ran home, his beautiful coat stained with sweat and grime from the streets, and arrived panting and dishevelled some twenty minutes later. He burst through the door like a volcano, startling Jane Hawthorne, who was on her knees polishing the legs of a chair. She looked up at him.
‘Whatever is the matter?’
‘Rose has been kidnapped.’
She looked genuinely shocked. ‘By whom? Whoever would do such a terrible thing?’
‘I don’t know, Jane. But some unknown woman took her from the school last night.’
‘Sit down,’ she said sensibly. ‘You’re as pale as a phantom. I’ll get you a drop of brandy.’
John sank into a chair and tried to breathe deeply, to calm himself and to work out what should be his course of action. But as Jane returned with the glass there was a loud knock on the door which made them both jump with fright. John leapt to his feet and went to answer it, only to see a grubby boy standing there with a piece of paper in his blackened fingernails.
‘Excuse me, Mister, but are you Mr Rawlings?’
‘Yes.’
‘This note was given to me by a gentleman along with a shilling. He said to put it in your hand perso
nally.’
‘Thank you. Here’s another shilling for you.’
The lad handed over the note, took the shilling, bit it and scarpered.
‘What does it say?’ asked Jane, coming to stand beside the Apothecary.
John’s fingers trembled as he broke the seal. Jane, reading under his arm, gave an exclamation of horror. If you want to see your daughter alive then come to the Mill Cove at midnight as it strikes. I’ll be waiting for you. It was unsigned.
‘Oh, dear God, John. Will you go?’
‘Nothing will keep me away.’
Yet for all his fine words the Apothecary knew what it meant to feel the clutch of icy fear.
TWENTY-TWO
It was raw. Snowflakes were clustered in the darkness overhead but had not yet broken out and the sky was the colour of tar, not a star visible on this blackest of black nights. Scurrying forms bearing lanterns hurried past John Rawlings as he stepped out of his house and looked about him. There was no light at all anywhere and then, even as he thought this, an upstairs casement opened and someone threw out the contents of a chamber pot. This was not unusual, but still John stood aside as the stinking contents descended with a gurgle and plopped into the gutter. A laugh rang out from behind the shutters of a house wherein four officers of the British army were billeted, all up late and playing cards, unable to see beyond the confines of their cosy dwelling. John’s hand automatically felt for the pair of pistols which he had shoved into the pockets of his great coat. He knew that he was departing on one of the most dangerous meetings of his entire existence, and that he must now use every ounce of his intelligence and in-born cunning if he was to escape with his life and rescue his daughter from the grasp of an international spy who would not hesitate to kill her and anyone who crossed him. Could it be N himself? John thought. But no, surely … Or could N possibly be a she? Whoever it was dwelled in London; it was from there that the letter had been sent. But was it possible that N had sailed to Boston to see his spy, Demelza, face-to-face? And, perhaps, if she was not doing her duty to his satisfaction, had murdered her? With his thoughts whirling, John entered the tunnel under Hanover Street, wherein Mill Creek ran down to the harbour, taking away excess water from the Mill Cove.