Death in the Setting Sun

by Deryn Lake

She smiled. “Away from people in carriages with sharp eyes.”

  “Precisely.” He took one of her hands. “Elizabeth, thank you for everything you’re doing. It far exceeds the bounds of friendship.”

  “Nonsense. I was growing damnably bored. It’s given me something to do that has a purpose.”

  “Even emptying chamber pots and lighting fires?”

  A smile transformed her features. “And scrubbing out the kitchens, don’t forget.”

  “I never will,” he answered.

  “Good night,” came the reply, and with that she was gone.

  John walked back through the darkness of the night, thinking to himself that less than a mile away his wife had breathed her last. A longing to see Rose suddenly possessed him, the child that she had brought into the world. Determined to write to Sir Gabriel the very next day, John entered the farmhouse and went straight to his room.

  He rose an hour before dawn the next morning, shivering in the cold and the darkness. Directed into the fields by a surly Jacob Bellow, he fed the cattle and the sheep, putting food into their troughs and checking the water supply, then he turned back in the direction of the farm for breakfast just as dawn broke over the pasture land.

  It was a dawn like no other he had ever seen. The sky turned pink for a few moments before the sun appeared, so that everywhere reflected that glorious roseate plumage, suffusing the clouds with an insidious, demanding shade. The Apothecary stood transfixed, letting his eyes enrich themselves with the colour, wishing for the thousandth time that Emilia was standing beside him, enjoying such a wonderful sight. Then he stared, startled by what he was looking at. For there, in the far field, etched black against the brilliant ball of the sun, she stood, gazing towards Gunnersbury House.

  “Emilia,” he called, though his voice came out as a harsh rasp.

  She half turned towards him, as if the sound had reached her ears. Then she turned back again and began slowly walking in the direction of the house.

  “Emilia, wait,” he called again, and for a moment closed his eyes. When he opened them again she had gone; vanished completely. Shivering violently and only partially from the cold, John Rawlings made his way to the farmhouse.

  “Hugh has agreed that you may stay until he is up again,” announced Hester Bellow, as she cut thick slices of bread and heaped them on the Apothecary’s plate.

  “How very kind,” he muttered through a piece of cheese.

  “Perhaps you’ll go and check on his welfare later,” she continued, cutting at ham and adding it to the collection on John’s trencher.

  “Of course. Gladly.”

  Jacob gave him a sour look. “We need to cut the reeds by the river bed today. So as soon as you’ve seen to Father you can go and get on with it.”

  John tugged his forelock. “Yes, Sir.”

  Hester remonstrated. “Jake, let the poor man eat his breakfast. He’s been out in the fields since five.”

  “Five!” Jacob said with a loud snort. “I’m up at three when ’tis lambing time.”

  “Well that ain’t yet,” she retorted, and in her anxiety put two more slices of meat on the Apothecary’s already overflowing plate.

  “Please, Mrs. Bellow, I. have more than enough. No more, I insist.”

  For since Emilia’s death his appetite had decreased enormously. True he was eating more normally than he had at first, but for all that great mountains of food now made him feel quite ill, therefore he left a great deal of his breakfast uneaten, much to Jacob’s disgust. In fact it was a relief to go upstairs and see his employer.

  Hugh was lying comfortably enough, his strapped leg outside the bedclothes.

  “Well, Sir, how are you this morning?” the Apothecary asked cheerfully.

  “Much better, thanks to your good self. You’ve done a grand job. I don’t think it will be necessary to call the physician after all.”

  “I think you should, Sir. He will be able to prescribe for you. The medicines I carry are very limited.”

  Hugh looked thoughtful. “Indeed. Not quite what I had gathered. Tell me, lad, did you only do a year with an apothecary? How come you were able to break your indentures?”

  John hesitated, thinking that to lie now would be dangerous. Eventually he took a breath and said, “Sir, I told you a falsehood. I actually am an apothecary but for personal reasons which I cannot discuss with you I am temporarily away from my shop.”

  Hugh looked even more pensive, then said eventually, “Tell me, are you connected in any way with the recent affair at the big house?”

  John sat down rather heavily on the edge of the bed but made no comment.

  “We heard tell that a young apothecary’s wife was murdered up there and that he was guilty.”

  “Then you heard wrong, Sir. I did not do it. I loved my wife with all my heart. I found her dying and sat with her. A gang came from the house and accused me but I managed to escape and now I have returned to find my wife’s murderer and hand him or her to the authorities.”

  He thought it wise to keep to himself his intention of killing the guilty party when he finally discovered them.

  Hugh sat silently, listening. Eventually he spoke. “I believe you and trust you. So it suits us both for you to work here for the time being.”

  “Indeed it does, Mr. Bellow.”

  “Well, you can go to the big house straight away, if you like. We deliver eggs, bread and milk there daily. Tell Jacob that I said I’d hand the task over to you.”

  “But supposing I am recognised?”

  “Take a big hat and pull it well down. Nobody will connect you with the respectable young man you must have been. Now go and get the cart loaded up.”

  It seemed odd, thought John, trotting along Brentford Lane having crossed Bellow Bridge, to be going towards Gunnersbury House once more. His mind went back to his escape, at which Priscilla had so obviously connived, to say nothing of Irish Tom. What a pitiable creature he had been then, what a sobbing wreck. But he was determined that he would not shed another tear until the sad, sorry business had been brought to its conclusion. For somewhere inside the big house he felt certain that Emilia’s killer lurked, unseen, smiling at his — or her — apparent triumph.

  “You wait,” said John, and realised he had spoken aloud.

  To his left, across the lane, lay the kitchen gardens, orchards planted beyond. Everything looked very black and bleak at this time of year. In fact, other than for a rather sorry display of winter cabbages, there was no colour at all. On his right, however, rose the grand columns of Gunnersbury House. Feeling that even from this distance he might be noticed, John pulled the hat down and walked the cart round to the kitchens, where he dismounted.

  A kitchen lad came strolling out. “Hello, have you brought the order from the farm?”

  “Yes. Sorry I’m a bit late but Mr. Bellow has met with an accident and I’ve taken over some of his duties.”

  The boy called over his shoulder. “Sir, come here, if you please. Mr. Bellow has had an accident.”

  An older man appeared, wiping his hands on a cloth. “What’s all this?”

  “Mr. Bellow has broken his leg,” John answered, handing the man a basket containing four dozen eggs. “Oh dear. How’s that?”

  “He was involved in an affray at Brentford yesterday. I’m the new farm hand, by the way. Name of Will. Where would you like your loaves put?”

  “On the kitchen table, away from the eyes of the cook. He hates the fact that Princess Amelia prefers Mrs. Bellow’s bread to his. A very jealous man, he is.” For the first time since Emilia’s murder John entered Gunnersbury House, carrying a big basket, this one containing freshly-baked loaves, wrapped in cloths and still warm. He was just placing them on the table when he heard a commotion outside the door leading into the house and stopped what he was doing to look.

  A woman flung herself into the opening and started to harangue the occupants of the kitchen.

  “You lazy good-for-nothings. The Pr
incess is upstairs demanding her breakfast and you tell me the bread has not yet arrived.”

  “It’s here, Mam,” John muttered, pulling his hat well down.

  “And about time too. You know that she likes a couple of fresh slices with her tea.” The woman paused. “Oh, you’re not Bellow.”

  “No, Mam. The master is indisposed. I’m the new help.”

  The woman drew nearer. “I see. And how long do you expect Bellow to be laid up?”

  “A good month. Fact is, he’s broke his leg.”

  John was putting on a rural drawl, hoping that his voice would be disguised. From under the brim of his hat, which good manners should have decreed he removed, he studied the woman, realising with a shock that he knew her. Plain as anything, the little porcine eyes gave it away. He was conversing with Priscilla herself.

  “I do hope this doesn’t mean we can expect late deliveries?”

  “On the contrary, Mam. I shall endeavour to be even earlier than he was in future.”

  He was aware of her eyeing him up and down. “Has no one ever told you that it is polite to remove your hat when entering a house?”

  “No, Mam.”

  “Well, it is. Pray do so.”

  Oh God, thought John, she’ll recognise me sure as fate. He did the only thing possible and turned away.

  “Would someone give me a hand with the churns? I wouldn’t like to keep the Princess waiting.”

  And he was out of the door and back at the cart before anybody had time to draw breath. Behind him he heard the woman say, “Impudent fellow. I shall ask for someone else to come in future,” but he was already heaving a churn from the back of the cart and being helped in with it by the kitchen lad.

  The woman swept from the kitchen in a flounce of crackling skirts. But not before she had shot John one last searching look over her shoulder. Hoping against hope that Priscilla had not recognised him, the Apothecary busied himself with the churns.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was late by the time John Rawlings managed to slip away from the farmhouse, leaving Jacob and his mother snoozing before the fire. Drawing his watch out from a pocket he saw that it was already half-past seven, and he started to run through the silvered night. There was a hard frost, the stars glittering fiercely over his head, the fields covered with white. He spared a thought for the poor cattle, herded together for warmth, and hoped that they would all be alive in the morning. But his principal worry was that Elizabeth would already be by Bellow Bridge and shivering in the icy conditions.

  But there was nobody there when he arrived. In fact the lady had obviously not been able to get out as planned. He called her name and walked round the bridge on both sides but there was no answering call and he was just about to head back for the farmhouse when he heard the sound of light footsteps. Imagining it to be the Marchesa he called out softly, “Elizabeth,” and heard the feet come to an abrupt halt. Instantly suspicious, John flattened himself behind a tree and only just in time. The moon came out from behind a small cloud and bathed the surroundings in its radiance. And he saw in the moonshine, wrapped ina long fur-trimmed cloak, the hood of which was up but her face showing quite clearly, Lady Georgiana Hope.

  “Michael?” she said tentatively.

  John made no answer, not certain what to do next.

  But he only had a second to wait before he heard another set of running footsteps and a man came into view.

  “Sweetheart,” the newcomer called, and swept the girl into his arms, kissing her ardently on the mouth.

  ‘Zounds, the Apothecary thought, it can’t be Michael O’Callaghan! But it was, quite definitely.

  The lovers paused for breath and he heard the Irishman say, “Oh, darlin’, how I’ve missed you.”

  “And I you,” she answered, and John could not help but smile at the contrast in their accents, Michael’s straight from the bogs of Ireland, hers frightfully upper-class English.

  “Can we be together soon?” he asked. “You gave me your word, remember.”

  “Of course I remember. But there is the matter of Conrad to be considered. I must plan my escape to the last detail.”

  So that would explain her reluctance to be with the tall, dark, sinister man. But who was he? A father, husband perhaps? Her next words gave the answer.

  “I hate him, I really do. If only I’d had the power to refuse him. But my father wanted it so much.”

  “An impoverished peer can be very dangerous,” Michael answered as if he had known dozens.

  “And when they have marriageable daughters …” Georgiana’s voice trailed away.

  Michael’s delivery assumed the husky timbre that John thought very attractive. “You’re going to be short of money with me, my sweet. I’ll have nothing to offer you until I become a proper player. There might be a year or two of hardship.”

  “Oh, my love, I won’t want for anything as long as I can be with you. You know that.”

  How many times have girls thought likewise, the Apothecary considered cynically. Then he thought of the old saying, “When hardship comes through the window, love flies out the door”, and gave a silent bitter smile.

  There was another silence while they exchanged more rapturous kisses. Then, eventually, she said, “Darling, I must go. Conrad is gaming with the Princess but I daren’t be absent much longer.”

  “Oh, sweetheart. Leaving you is like a physical pain.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll walk back as far as the gates with you.”

  “No, don’t. You might be seen.”

  “Till tomorrow then?”

  Georgiana wept a little. “I don’t know. It all depends on what Conrad is doing.”

  “Blast Conrad to a million pieces. Anyway, I’m lodging in Brentford till the end of the week. Then I must return to London. But I’ll be here every night until Friday. Whether you come or not.”

  He spun on his heel, clearly put out, and began to cross the bridge. As John could have predicted Georgiana ran to catch him up.

  “Michael, darling, I love you. It’s just that I must humour Conrad until we get back to town and put our plan into action. Do you forgive me?”

  The beautiful voice took on a thrilling edge. “There’s nothing to forgive, my angel. Just try to be here every night.”

  “I will, oh I will,” she responded, and there were more kisses.

  Eventually, though, they went their separate ways and John emerged from his hiding place. So he was not the only person keeping himself hidden round the Gunnersbury Park estate. The Irish actor, possibly Emilia’s murderer, though he would have had to be quick about it, was also playing a covert game. The Apothecary waited another five minutes in case Elizabeth had been delayed then decided it was too cold and hurried back to Bellow Farm.

  Hester was waiting up for him, rather flushed in the cheeks.

  “Dr. Rice has been. He would have called sooner but was delayed by an accident. Anyway he said that whoever bound up Hugh’s leg was a professional and we should think ourselves lucky to have him on the premises.”

  “Good.” The Apothecary sat down on the chair opposite hers and held out his frozen hands to the blaze.

  “Would you like a glass of mulled wine? It’s a bitter cold night for going on a walk.”

  “One of my little foibles, I fear. Yes, I’d love one. Mrs. Bellow …”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think the sheep and cattle will survive this frost? Oughtn’t they to be in sheds?”

  “Yes, they ought. But who’s to do it? Jake has gone to bed.”

  “I will muster them. You can be mulling the wine while I’m gone.”

  And before she could argue he had stood up, placed a hat on his head, and gone out. Beyond the farm the night was like an ice-filled furnace, millions of stars scintillating over his head, the moon almost full, glittering in the sky like some enormous beacon, momentarily blotted out by a wisp of black lace clouds. John made his way to the field where the sheep and
cows stood in a huddle, their stertorous breathing frosting in the freezing air. First he rounded up the sheep — two dozen at the most — and herded them into the big barn. Then he went back for the cows.

  Back in the field he felt his eyes drawn to the spot where earlier that day he believed he had seen Emilia walk. Now there was nothing but plunging white, the trees like black skeletons outlined against the pallidity. What had been there? he wondered. Had it really been a phantom or was there some more earthly explanation? Still deliberating, the Apothecary rounded up the small milking herd and led them towards the barn.

  The next few days were solid work and John found himself aching in every part of his body. Muscles never used before were being called into play and he was so tired at night that he fell into bed and slept without dreaming, ready to rise in the darkness and milk the cows.

  He had not been back to the bridge since that night, nor had he been allowed the privilege of going to the big house with the produce. But today Jacob was going to market in Brentford so John, in company with the farmer’s boy, Ben, loaded the second cart — Jacob having taken the big one — and the Apothecary set off for the kitchens of Gunnersbury House.

  As soon as he entered the gates he slowed his pace, hoping that he might see something, anything indeed. And today he was rewarded. For Princess Amelia, in company with her four ladies, namely Kemp, Featherstonehaugh, Theydon and Hampshire, were out taking the air. Today the Princess was walking with a cane and indeed looked pale. John hoped fervently that she would linger in the country another week before returning to Curzon Street.

  Keeping his eyes fixed firmly on them he did not see the obstruction in his path and the first warning he had that anything was wrong was when he heard the wheel splinter. Cursing to himself he brought the pony to a stop and jumped down.

  A large piece of masonry had fallen from the roof and landed in the drive, ready to catch the first person who rode over it. Furious, John took the pony by the reins and led it round to the kitchen. The usual lad appeared.