by Deryn Lake
“Well, Sir, this is a surprise.”
“I thought the worst that could happen would be that I fell over.”
“Indeed, Sir, I want to ask you a favour.”
And John explained, only leaving out the manner of his disguise and the fact that Michael O’Callaghan was an actor, a profession much mistrusted by country folk.
“And you really think this week will be sufficient for you to discover who committed the crime.”
“It has to be, Sir. After that I believe the Princess will recover fully and pack up and return to London for the rest of the season.”
“You’re probably right. It is very rare for her to be here at this time of year.”
An hour later it was done and Hugh had shaken hands with Michael O’Callaghan. John had stowed his few belongings and in company with the farmer’s boy was off to the big house with the day’s produce. But instead of going to the kitchens he was dropped off in the drive, close to the stables, and went in search of Joe Jago. He found his old friend grooming a big chestnut stallion.
“Good morning, Joe,” John said in a whisper.
“Good morning, Sir,” Joe answered cheerfully. “That’s a fine horse you’re tending.”
“Aye, Sir, this is Eclipse. The Princess’s own mount.” John lowered his voice even further. “Joe, I’ve got to speak to you.”
“Go to where we talked before. Take your bag. Wait for me. I’ll be about another ten minutes.”
Walking nonchalantly and looking round to make sure that he was not being observed, John went to the rendezvous and sat down on the stone floor, closing his eyes. Immediately, unpleasant visions flashed before him; visions of Emilia lying dead, of crimson blood and white snow, of terrible gashes in her gut, of her recognising him before she died. He opened his lids, feeling near to tears. But yet again he controlled them. He had sworn to himself that he would not cry until this sorry affair was ended and this was something he meant to stick to.
He heard approaching footsteps and looking up saw Joe, a piece of straw between his teeth, smiling at him beatifically.
“Well, Sir, what’s afoot?”
“Plenty,” John answered, and told him of his plot to enter the house and, hopefully, to stay there.
“If they won’t put you up you can share my room over the stables,” the clerk said practically.
“Thanks, Joe. Now, what have you discovered?”
“Quite a lot, Sir. First — and I’m sure you’ll be amused by this — Benedict the footman has fallen madly in love with Lady Elizabeth.”
For no reason John felt thoroughly irritated though he joined in Joe’s uproarious laughter.
“And does she respond?” he asked when they had quietened down.
“Not she. But she’s leading him on because she thinks she might get facts out of him.”
“Oh good,” said John, not meaning it.
“Further, Lady Georgiana and Michael O’Callaghan are planning to run away together.”
“Yes, he told me something of that.”
“Lady Theydon plays an interesting role in all of it. She appears almost like a disapproving mama.”
“And what of Priscilla? Has there been any sign of her attacker?”
“Not a breath of him anywhere. That was a very odd business.”
“It must have been Emilia’s assailant, which proves Priscilla right. The original attack was intended for her all along.”
“Yes.” Joe looked thoughtful. “Unless …”
“What?”
“Nothing, Sir. I was just musing aloud.”
“Please tell me.”
“No, Sir, I can’t. I was following an idea which came to naught.”
With that the Apothecary had to be satisfied. He turned to Joe. “Is there anyone you suspect? Anyone at all?”
Joe looked thoughtful. “They’re all up to something, as people from the higher walks of society always are. Consequently I suspect them all, yet I have nothing truly tangible to lay against any of them. The difficulty is, Sir, that much as I pick up gossip here in the stables, I can’t get into the house and talk to the folks concerned.”
“Exactly what I’ve been feeling. But now, thanks to Michael O’Callaghan’s cunning conceit, I’ve a chance of doing just that.”
“It will certainly do good, Sir, as long as you can get away with it.”
“The next thing will be to get the right clothes and to track down Priscilla. Everything depends on her.”
“No, not everything, Sir. It will be up to you to use your initiative and powers of deduction. Miss Fleming will merely be the source.”
“You’re right. It will be my actions that will decide the outcome.”
They parted company, Joe returning to his duties, John to reconnoitre the park land. Tracing a long semi-circle from the stables, he stood as far away from the house as was possible, trying to see it as Emilia must have done that last time. His eyes took in the horseshoe shape of the lakes, the formal gardens, the steps that rose to the house itself.
From this angle the Round Pond and The Temple were to the left of the building, though some distance removed. On the right, however, was a building which John took to be a grotto. This was more or less facing the spot where Emilia had been done to death. Gritting his teeth and praying that he would not be discovered and challenged, John made his way through the trees to try and locate the actual spot.
And then he found it. There was still some blood on the ground, though this had dried to a mere reddish stain. But the fern had broken where she had fallen and John, leaning over, just as he had done on that fateful night, could picture her lying there quite clearly. Then his eye was caught by a tiny piece of material snagged on one of the branches. He picked it off, very gently, and saw that it was bright red. It was a piece of the cloak she had worn. Yet it was in an odd position. Quite high up as if she had been standing silently amongst the trees.
For the millionth time the Apothecary wondered why she had gone into the gardens at all, what errand she could have been running and for whom. That she had gone about affairs of her own had not even occurred to him, though now he gave it some consideration, sitting down on the ground to ponder the idea.
Then he suddenly flattened as he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. Lying almost where Emilia had breathed her last, John waited.
Chapter Seventeen
The footsteps drew nearer, paused for a moment, then proceeded on their way. John, from his prone position, peered through the trees and was fascinated to see the tall, saturnine figure of Lord Hope stride out of the wood and make his way towards the Grotto. Then, peering round to check that he was unobserved, his Lordship entered the folly and disappeared from view.
John stood up, dusting the dried leaves from his clothing. Checking that the fragment of red material was safely in his pocket, he made his way cautiously out of the spinney and across the lawns. Realising that he was in full view of anyone who should be standing at a window, he pulled his hat as low as it would go and sauntered across.
To his right lay the Grotto, interesting because he had never seen it. Yet to go inside would be highly dangerous. Lord Hope had not reappeared and was presumably about some private business of his own. John imagined that he must be meeting somebody, obviously to discuss personal matters. Longing though he was to look, John resisted and made his way round to the side entrance of Gunnersbury House.
Now he really was on dangerous ground. Up to that moment he could have bluffed his way as being a gardener but once inside there were no excuses. Praying that he would not be discovered John crept through the door up the stairs. From Lady Theydon’s room he could hear the sounds of conversation.
“My dear ladies,” her self-important voice was saying, “have some more tea, do.”
“Thank you, Madam. I will” John thought he recognised Lady Kemp.
“And I too.” That was definitely Lady Featherstonehaugh.
So she was giving h
er companions morning tea, the Apothecary realised. And at that second a devastating thought came to him, that his life would never be normal again, that never more would the humdrum round of everyday things be his lot. For a moment he stood, feeling dizzy with the sheer horror of it, wishing yet again that Emilia was waiting for him in Priscilla’s room, that everything could be restored to what it once had been. Then he rallied, mentally braced up, and continued on his way.
Gently knocking on the door, he waited for Priscilla to call out. But there was total silence. The Apothecary knocked once more, fractionally louder, but still there was no reply. Gently he put his hand on the knob and turned it. The door swung open and John peered inside. Of the owner there was no sign. Drawing his courage to him, he went inside.
He instantly noticed a door in the wall leading to Lady Theydon’s apartment and hurriedly turned away from it, hiding himself in the bed draperies. The ridiculousness of his position struck him, yet he had to see Priscilla and set his plan in motion. Or else, he realised, his case was hopeless. He would never discover who had truly stabbed Emilia and would spend the rest of his days on the run, cut off from all that he cherished and loved.
From his hiding place he could hear the sounds of the tea party continuing and he also heard a pair of feet running up the stairs. A minute later the door was flung open and Priscilla herself appeared, hurrying breathlessly, her clothing somewhat disarrayed. Once inside the door, she leant against it, fanning herself with her hand.
“Priscilla,” said John from the midst of the bed draperies.
She screamed, quite loudly, turning towards the bed, white-faced.
“It’s me,” he said, disentangling himself. “Please don’t be frightened. The Irish actor and I have formulated a plan.”
“Oh, my dear, how strange to see you,” she said, sitting down suddenly. “You gave me the most tremendous fright.”
John rolled his eyes in the direction of the door that led to Lady Theydon’s apartment. “I hid because of that. I was afraid she might come through.”
For answer Priscilla tiptoed forward and silently turned a key. “I do that sometimes when I want to be private,” she said, and giggled.
208
She looked quite attractive with a becoming pink in her cheeks caused by her recent exertion. In fact, she was looking the best that John remembered for some while.
“Is it too early for a glass of sherry?” she asked, dimpling at him.
“Never,” he answered gallantly, coming out of the bed hangings and making her a small bow.
She poured from a crystal decanter and handed him a glass. “Now, tell me the latest.”
John took a sip, then outlined his idea, adding, “So everything depends on you introducing me into the court.”
“We’ll have to be quick. Princess Amelia has announced that she is closing this place down next week.”
“Then time is of the essence. Shall I go to Brentford and arrive here by hired cart tonight?”
“Oh, surely that would lower the tone. A horse would be better. But what are you going to do about clothes?”
“I was hoping you would be able to help me.” Priscilla looked thoughtful, pursing her lips. “I suppose we could borrow something from the Prince of Mecklenburg who leaves clothes here rather than carry them abroad.”
“But he is stouter than I.”
“No matter. I am handy with my needle. Now then, you must be Colonel Richard Melville, invalided out of the army, veteran of the recent conflict.”
“And why am I here?”
“You have come with a message for me. Now as I said, I suggest you hire a horse. It will not look as good as a coach but there is a livery stable in Brentford with some reasonable nags, which should create the right impression.”
John raised his glass to her. “Thank you, Priscilla. Emilia told me how good a friend you were to her. Now I can see that it is absolutely true.”
She blushed. “Thank you. Now, where shall I leave the clothes when I have altered them?”
“In the stables at Gunnersbury House, put them in a bag under the hay trough. I’ll creep in there after dark and change. Then I’ll come to the house. The rest is up to you.”
“You can rely on me, John. You know that I won’t let you down.” She leant across from where she was sitting opposite him. “Also please know that I will be as good a friend to you as I once was to Emilia.” She stretched out a hand and touched his, which automatically he put forward in response.
Again, he acted without thinking, raising her fingers to his lips. A very slight movement on her part made him suddenly glance at her. She had turned away, only her arm extended, and he saw that she had a strange expression on her face, an unreadable look. Then she turned back and just for a second he saw an aspect of total joy upon her features before it vanished as quickly as it had come. In fact he wasn’t sure that he had seen it at all in retrospect.
She refilled both their glasses. “Let us drink to your speedy success,” she said.
“Yes,” John answered heavily. “With the Princess leaving shortly I really do have to find the murderer fast.”
On the dot of seven-thirty a somewhat aged black horse, the best that Brentford could boast, trotted up to the front door of Gunnersbury House, facing Brentford Lane, and the rider dismounted. An ostler came smartly to the summons and opened his eyes very wide when he saw the equestrian, who was a dashing fellow, supremely well-dressed and handsome, his looks marred, however, by a black patch over one eye.
“Good evening, Sir,” said Joe Jago.
“Good evening, my good man,” answered John Rawlings.
“Will you be requiring the beast again this night, Sir?”
“I sincerely hope not,” John replied in an undertone.
A footman responded to the ringing of the bell and, having shown John into the reception room, took a card on a tray to Miss Fleming, who was currently attending the Princess in the drawing room. Shortly afterwards she arrived, looking somewhat flustered.
“Oh, my dear Colonel,” she said. “What a surprise. I had no idea you were in the area.”
“Madam, I had quite a journey of it,” responded her visitor. “I have been in Bath, don’t you know, but received a letter from my aged mama in which was contained a message for you. I therefore set forth by post-chaise, caught another, and ended up hiringa horse in Brentford. Anyway, here I am at last, and somewhat famished I might add.”
“My dear Sir, all shall be attended to shortly. But I must confess we are currently in something of a panic here. A member of our household has gone missing and we are shortly to organise a search for him.”
“Missing?” said John, genuinely startled. “Who is that then?”
“Lord Hope. He did not return to dine and that is when the alarm was raised. The Princess is hardly fit to receive a visitor, I fear.”
At that moment there was a piercing scream and Georgiana appeared in the entrance hall, visibly shaking.
“We must search for him,” she announced to the world in general. “We must find Conrad.” She turned her eyes on the new arrival. “Oh, please help us, Sir,” she asked beseechingly.
Recalling her performance at the bridge with Michael O’Callaghan, John thought her one of the best actresses he had ever come across, despite the Irishman’s somewhat scathing review of her abilities.
He bowed deeply. “Madam, whatever you wish. I am entirely at your disposal.”
She fluttered, despite herself. “Priscilla, pray introduce me to this gentleman.”
“Lady Georgiana, may I present Colonel Richard Melville, my cousin.” She curtseyed. “Colonel Melville, this is Lady Georgiana Hope.”
John bowed and kissed her hand. “Honoured, Madam,” he said.
He rather liked the role of military man, which gave him the opportunity to display bluff good manners. He also decided that Colonel Melville cut something of a dash with the ladies and resolved to play that part of the character for all
he was worth.
“Colonel Melville has brought me a message from his mother,” Priscilla said by way of explanation.
Lady Georgiana gave him a melting glance. “And what a time to arrive, Sir, with the whole place in an uproar. You see, my husband often goes off for the day, shooting and such-like, but today he has failed to return. I am so desperately worried about him.”
Like the devil you are, thought John, though he continued to smile.
“I will do all I can to help, Madam. But first, out of courtesy, I feel I should be presented to the Princess. That is if she will receive me of course.”
“Allow me to present you, Sir. It is true she is currently flustered but I am sure she will be delighted.” John gave his second best bow. “I would be greatly honoured, Madam. Thank you so much.”
“Think nothing of it, Sir. I will go to her directly.” And with that Lady Georgiana, who had most rapidly regained her composure, turned on her heel and swept into some inner sanctum.
In the silence that followed John and Priscilla exchanged a glance. “Thank you for the clothes,” he whispered.
“It’s a miracle they fit. He is much more fleshy than you are. I’ll alter some others tonight and bring them to your room.”
“That is if the Princess invites me to stay”
But there was no time for further conversation. Lady Georgiana, pale but determined, came back in.
“If you would be so good as to follow me, Colonel Melville, Her Royal Highness will receive you now.” John, suddenly nervous, went out of the room in her wake, limping slightly to give a touch of authenticity to the wounded Colonel.
This night the Princess gleamed in silver with a necklace of large diamonds, but clearly her mood did not match her clothes. She looked up listlessly as Georgiana, John and Priscilla processed into the room, which had been set up for card play, several small tables having been erected and placed round.
She glared at John moodily and, just for a second, he saw a spark in her eye and thought he had been recognised. But then the look passed away and she stared at him blankly.