Death in the Setting Sun

by Deryn Lake

  “Good morning, ladies.”

  They turned and bobbed curtseys simultaneously. “Good morning, Colonel Melville.”

  “Did you sleep well?” John asked, bowing.

  “Very,” said Lady Kemp but Lady Featherstonehaugh answered, “No, I did not. Couldn’t get off for all that infernal whispering.”

  “Whispering, dear?” enquired Lady Kemp.

  “Yes, wretched racket. In the corridor, outside my room. Went on for ages. In the end I rose from my bed and went to remonstrate with them. But it was too late, they had gone.”

  “Who was it? Do you have any idea?”

  “I thought at first it was Madam Hampshire with one of her pretty young fellows. But the voices didn’t seem right somehow. Anyway, there’s no point in discussing it now. Whoever it was escaped without me seeing them.”

  John bowed the ladies in to place at the table, seeing somewhat to his surprise that the three of them were alone.

  “I wonder where the others are,” he ventured.

  “The doctor has gone riding, young Naill is still abed. As for the other ladies I expect they will join us shortly.”

  So this was to be his opportunity. With what he hoped was a winning smile, the Apothecary addressed them both.

  “Tell me, ladies, what was the most frightening experience of your lives?”

  Lady Kemp answered straight away. “Oh without doubt it was the murder of that young woman last Christmas. I shall never forget the sight of her, bleeding to death, her husband holding her in his arms. He looked so wild, poor thing.”

  “Why do you say that?” John asked involuntarily. Fortunately she misunderstood his meaning and said, “Because it was so terrifying. I can remember the day distinctly. We were all so excited about the masque. The cast had already arrived from London and I must say that I was quite taken with Michael O’Callaghan. Such a lovely voice, don’t you know. Anyway, I congratulated Priscilla on finding him but she said she had known of him for some while.”

  “Get to the point, my dear.” This from Lady Featherstonehaugh.

  “I am doing so,” Lady Kemp replied with dignity. “As I was saying, that husband of the dead girl came through the most terrible weather to be here. Quite frankly it was a miracle that he arrived. Anyway, he must have followed her into the woods and killed her because that is where we found him. But it struck me as odd at the time that he should have done such a thing in so public a place. I mean, why not murder her at home?”

  Lady Featherstonehaugh snorted. “They presumably had an argument and he hit out at her in a rage.”

  “Well, despite what you say, I did not think him guilty. I think he found her body and stayed with it, grief-stricken.”

  “Tell me,” said John, hoping he did not sound too inquisitorial, “did you step out for some air after the masque?”

  Lady Kemp turned on him a puzzled face. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

  “But you did, my dear,” boomed Lady Featherstonehaugh. “I distinctly remember you excusing yourself and leaving the room.” She turned to look at John. “I, too, took a turn round the Round Pond, very briefly because of the inclement weather. Do you know I glimpsed a man relieving himself behind a tree. Most unseemly.”

  “Indeed,” echoed Lady Kemp. “Who was it?”

  “I’m not sure, I averted my eyes immediately. But I rather think it was Mr. O’Callaghan.”

  Lady Kemp blushed. “I expect he was in a hurry to return.”

  “I can’t think why. The performance had reached its end. Why could he not go to the closet like everyone else?”

  “Perhaps it was occupied,” said John seriously.

  So both the ladies had left the house as had Michael. That meant all three could have hastened into the woods, wearing a red cloak, and killed Emilia. But why — if Priscilla was correct and it was her they were really seeking — did they do it? John felt that a frank talk with that young woman was long overdue.

  The door opened and Lady Theydon came in, looking extremely careworn, John thought.

  “Am I late?” she asked.

  “A little,” Lady Kemp answered, “but it is of no matter. How did you sleep, my dear?”

  “Like a child,” came the answer, and John stared at her open-mouthed, thinking that she lied with the ease of a professional swindler.

  “Where are the other ladies?” he asked brightly.

  The great dark eyes fixed themselves on him and she started to explain in her lugubrious voice.

  “Well, the Princess is abed and breakfasts when she feels like it. And I think Lady Georgiana can be excused in view of the terrible tragedy. But Miss Fleming should be here to take her orders for the day. It is most remiss of her to be late.”

  As if that had been her cue, the door flung open dramatically and Priscilla, looking fractionally unkempt, came through it.

  “Oh forgive me, Ma’am,” she said, dropping a curtsey in the direction of Lady Theydon, “I overslept.”

  “Did that damnable whispering keep you awake?” asked Lady Featherstonehaugh.

  “Whispering? No, I heard none.”

  “Then you were lucky is all I can say.”

  “And where is the Countess?” John put in brightly.

  “Lying with her latest lover, I dare swear.” Ignoring the hushes that came from the others, Lady Featherstonehaugh continued, “The lady married a very old man who was tickled to death to catch a respected actress for his bride. She is his third wife, incidentally. The other two both died.”

  “Of boredom?” asked Lady Kemp sweetly.

  Lady Featherstonehaugh made a trumpeting sound but did not reply.

  John silently congratulated himself on being right about Lady Hampshire. He put on his interested face. “So the old Earl is still alive, is he?”

  “About eighty and on his last legs, but yes.”

  Priscilla spoke up. “If you can spare me for half an hour I should so enjoy showing the Colonel the grounds, Lady Theydon. I have not seen him for a while and it will give us a chance to catch up on family gossip.”

  The heavy eyes rested on the Apothecary and for a horrible moment he thought he had been recognised. But having studied him they looked away once more as she tackled a serious plate of eggs.

  “Yes, that will be in order. But first you must attend me in my rooms, Priscilla.”

  “Very well, Lady Theydon.”

  What exactly was the relationship between these two? John wondered. And why did none of the other women surrounding the Princess appear to have personal servants? Determined that the walk with Priscilla would provide him with answers, the Apothecary stood up.

  “Ladies, if you will forgive me I have some correspondence I must attend to.”

  Miss Fleming looked at him meaningfully. “I will see you by the front door at eleven o’clock, Colonel.”

  “I’ll be there,” he answered, then bowed individually to all the women in the room before he withdrew.

  Once outside he sped to the stables where he found Joe Jago brushing the coat of Eclipse.

  “My friend, are you sure that the Runners won’t arrest me?”

  “Certain, Mr. Rawlings.”

  “But what about Sir John? Is it not his duty to see me behind bars?”

  “That’s as may be. But as an old friend he is prepared to give you a bit of leeway.”

  “But I’ve been at liberty long enough by anyone’s reckoning.”

  Joe stopped his brushing. “Sir, whose side are you on?”

  John laughed despite himself. “You’re right as usual. Joe, how are you going to persuade the Princess to stay a few days more?”

  “Ah now, that’s the question.”

  “Have you a plan?”

  “I thought Eclipse here might give us the answer.” John stared at him and Joe went on, “She adores this horse, does the Princess. If he were to develop a cold I think she might remain here until it got better.”

  “But how are you going to fake that? The
horse looks healthy enough to me.”

  “Ah, it takes an expert to tell when a horse is under the weather, Sir.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “Poor chap was off his food this morning.”

  “What a shame.”

  “Shame indeed, Sir,” said Joe, moving round the gleaming chestnut of the creature’s hindquarters. “Shame indeed.” And he winked a spectacular eye.

  Chapter Twenty

  Priscilla, looking exceptionally pretty, quite tidied up from her slight dishevelment at breakfast, was waiting by the front door. She gave a small curtsey as John approached, then took his arm in a friendly manner.

  “I’ve been so looking forward to getting you to myself,” she murmured confidentially.

  John was not quite sure how to reply, slightly startled by the warmth of her tone. Eventually he said, “I’m afraid that I’ve a lot of questions to ask you and I shall require truthful answers.”

  She flashed him a look. “I am always truthful with you.”

  “Very well. Let’s get away from the house.”

  They strode out, walking deep into the estate where they were quite sure that no one could overhear them. Then Priscilla gave him a long glance, squeezed his arm, and said, “Well?”

  “Listen, my dear, I’ve got to know what it is about you that people want to destroy. You told me on the night Emilia died that it was you the killer was after. Now you’ve got to tell me why.”

  Priscilla turned away. “I swore I would never disclose that to a living soul.”

  “But don’t you see how desperate the situation is?”

  “Yes, I do. I truly do.”

  “Then I beg you.”

  “Very well.” She paused, then said, “Cast your mind back to when our present King was still Prince of Wales.”

  “I can recall it vividly.”

  “Do you remember there were those who hoped that he might take an English woman for wife.”

  “I remember that he was very taken up with Lady Sarah Lennox, yes.”

  Priscilla made a contemptuous noise. “I speak of a time before that particular young woman came along. A time when the Prince was eighteen years old.”

  “Ah, you are referring to the rumours about a Hannah Lightfoot?”

  “No, Sir, I am not.” Priscilla paused and gave him a long stare. “It was I who was his secret mistress.”

  John stared, absolutely speechless. “You?” he gasped.

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “Yes, it does. How on earth did it happen?”

  “We met at the ball given for him by Elizabeth Chudleigh. I was there with Lady Theydon. A mere nothing, a nobody. I remember that I wore an old dress of hers as I had nothing fine of my own to wear. Anyway, somehow in the midst of all that glittering throng he noticed me. Indeed he danced with me. And before he left he pressed a note into my hand asking me to meet him.”

  John was frankly astounded. Thinking that of all the beauties present on that wondrous occasion the Prince should have picked Priscilla.

  “But that is not all,” she continued, and suddenly she lowered her eyes and looked away from him.

  “Yes?” said John, eager now to hear what it was she had to say.

  “We did meet and we became lovers. We were both eighteen and it was the most passionate affair you can imagine. Oh, John, how foolish I was. But at the time I dreamed of being Queen. But no, much as he adored me, his mother and her lover, Lord Bute, interfered. They saw to it that we parted. Damn them.”

  The Apothecary sat silently, overwhelmed by what he had just been told. He had indeed heard rumours that the King, then Prince, had lost his virginity to a certain Quaker girl called Hannah Lightfoot, that he had been in love with Sarah Lennox but ended up doing his duty and marrying the ugly little Queen, but this was astounding.

  “And that was the end of it?” he asked.

  She turned on him a livid coloured face. “Not quite,” she said. “No, I’ll tell you the reason why assassins are after me. You see, John, six months after the Prince and I ended our relationship I gave birth to a baby boy.”

  “The King has a bastard son!” the Apothecary exclaimed.

  “At least one that I know of,” Priscilla answered bitterly.

  “What happened to him?”

  “He was put out to a family as soon as he was born, poor little mite. I never saw him. As far as I was concerned he was forgotten. And then, at the age of six months, he died.” She paused then continued in a low voice, “I went to his funeral. There was a stranger there, a man dressed entirely in black. I don’t know who he was. I have never seen him before or since. But after that certain things started to happen to me.”

  “What?”

  “A carriage tried to run me down; I was pushed when standing near a cliff edge; that sort of thing.”

  “But you escaped.”

  “Obviously, for I stand before you. But now do you see why the powers that be think I should die?”

  “No, to be honest, I don’t.”

  Priscilla moved closer to him, gazing up earnestly into his face. “Because I am the only person alive, other than those from the King’s court, who knows about Baby George.”

  Her lips trembled at this last remark and she started to weep, silently and sadly. Without really meaning to, John felt obliged to put his arms round her.

  “Oh,” she sobbed, “it’s so wonderful just to be able to tell someone of my sin. Yet at the time it did not feel as if I were sinning. I truly loved George, was glad to have his child. But now my secret grows dangerous. Oh, John, you do see now why Emilia had to die.”

  He supposed he did and yet he could not quite follow her argument. Kings had had bastards before and most certainly would do so again. So why was it so important that she should be removed? But whatever his opinion the poor girl was now weeping copiously and he felt duty bound to do his best to cheer her up.

  “Come, come, Priscilla,” he said soothingly, reaching into his pocket for his salts. “I am sure everything will be all right.”

  She took the bottle and inhaled the vapours deeply. “Now that you are here they will,” she answered.

  The Apothecary felt vaguely uncomfortable but said nothing, noticing how quickly her eyes grew puffy, then feeling cruel for studying her so closely.

  She smiled up at him tearfully. “Swear that you will tell no one, particularly Lady Theydon.”

  “But surely she knows. Didn’t you say that she was at the ball when you met His Majesty?”

  “Yes, I did. Of course she knew of our courtship in the early days but when I became pregnant I went away for six months. I lived in the country; a solitary existence. She knew nothing of it and still doesn’t.”

  “I see.” The Apothecary weighed his words carefully. “Tell me, what exactly is your relationship with Lady Theydon? You seem very close in some ways.”

  Priscilla fluttered in his arms. “How clever you are to guess. She is my aunt, my mother’s sister. She actually brought me up. You see Mama died when I was twelve.”

  “When you were at school with Emilia?”

  Priscilla nodded. “Yes. I can remember the day the news came. Emilia was so sweetly kind.”

  Her words made John’s heart wrench and he turned his head away.

  “Oh, my dear, have I upset you?” she asked. “I wouldn’t do that for the world.”

  He looked down at her. “No, I’m all right. Thank you for telling me your story. Is there anything else I need to know?”

  “No, I can’t think of anything.”

  “Tell me one last thing,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Have you known Michael O’Callaghan a long time?”

  “I met him years ago, yes. Then I didn’t see him for an age.”

  “Oh. Where did you meet?”

  “In Ireland,” said Priscilla, “where I went to have the baby.”

  By the time John and Priscilla returned to the house the Runners had arrive
d from London and were questioning everybody who had been present on the day Lord Hope had died. According to their records Colonel Melville, Dr. Phipps and the Honourable Gerald Naill had presented themselves too late to be counted as suspects. Nevertheless, they were called in to see the Runners to state their hour of arrival at Gunnersbury House.

  Gerald went first and came out looking rather pale. “Damn fellows gave me a rough time,” he said, quite crestfallen. “Didn’t seem to believe my story that I came to play cards with the Princess. Asked me if I knew Lord Hope and I had to admit that I had met the fellow once or twice.”

  Dr. Phipps stood up. “My turn, I dare swear.”

  But at that moment Runner Nick Raven, who in company with Runner Richard Ham comprised the mainstay of Sir John Fielding’s mobile unit, two Brave Fellows with a carriage ready to leave for any part of the kingdom at fifteen minutes notice, put his head round the door.

  “The Colonel, if you please, Sir.”

  Suddenly very nervous, John stepped into the small anteroom that the Princess had said the officials might use for questioning people. Once inside he stood, waiting to see how they would greet him.

  Runner Raven, as dark and birdlike as his name suggested, fixed him with an avine stare. “Well, Mr. Rawlings, this is a fine how-dee-do.”

  “It is indeed.” He looked Nick straight in the eye. “I didn’t kill her. I swear it.”

  Runner Ham, a big genial chap, came over. “We know you didn’t, Sir. Why should you? But we’ve got our duty to do. Another week, that’s all that Sir John will allow. Then we have to arrest you.”

  “I know.” John looked hangdog. “I’ve got to find the guilty party who, I think, lies somewhere amongst the Princess’s ladies-in-waiting. Unless Michael O’Callaghan is the one. But the trouble is I am totally confused. And today I heard an odd story.”

  The words were out before he had time to think and he instantly regretted them. “Oh, and what was that, Sir?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t repeat it. It was told me in confidence.”

  “And does it have any bearing on the present case?”