by Deryn Lake
“You mean the murderer will get away unpunished?”
“Yes,” said John baldly, recalling the minutes he had spent under Lady Theydon’s bed, down in the dust, and yet been none the wiser about the killer’s identity.
An inspection of Hugh’s injury — which was healing slowly but soundly — over, John sauntered out and stared round the farm’s considerable holdings, wondering exactly where Michael O’Callaghan had got himself.
“Come back to spy on us?” said a voice behind him, and he turned to see Jacob, milk bucket in hand, giving him a supercilious look.
“On the contrary,” John answered smoothly. “I’ve actually come to have a word with the new hand.”
Jake snorted. “Him. He’s about as much good as you were. Soft like all you town folks. Work-shy.”
“That’s not what your father told me.” The Apothecary paused, then said, “Look, Jacob, I know you’ve hated me since I first arrived at Bellow’s Farm but there is no need, really. I don’t want to take your place in your father’s affections nor am I after usurping your position. Neither is Michael O’Callaghan. We are simply here to help during your father’s disability. That’s all.”
Jake scowled at the milk bucket. “That’s your story. I think you’re a murderer.”
“Then why,” said the Apothecary, thoroughly put out, “don’t you go to the constable in Brentford and hand me in?”
“Cos I’ve better things to do with my time.”
“Nonsense. There’s a substantial reward. Go ahead and claim it.”
“And earn my father’s wrath? No, it wouldn’t be worth the money.”
“Surely you could go in secret. Need your father ever know?”
“He’d find out somehow. He’s got a bit of gypsy blood and nothing escapes him.”
“That’s what I could do with, a bit of clairvoyance. ‘Zounds, what a tangled web this is.”
Jacob put the bucket down. “I’ll tell you this much, John Rawlings — that is your real name, isn’t it?” The Apothecary nodded. “That Irishman spends half his time on the Gunnersbury Park estate. Crosses over by the way you came in, judging by the state of your boots.”
John looked down and saw that mud from the embankment had indeed stuck to his footwear.
“And what do you reckon to that?”
“I reckon that he’s either mad for love or that he’s killing people,” Jacob answered succinctly. Then he spat on the ground, picked up the bucket, and strode into the house without a backward glance.
Half an hour later John was sitting on a bale of hay, telling Joe Jago everything that had happened that day, with the exception of his interlude with Elizabeth. For dear friend that Joe was, he could not bring himself to discuss the strange feelings that had swamped him when he had been in her company. Feelings that had been in his mind all day and which he had overcome by forcing them firmly away, only for them to come creeping back as soon as he relaxed.
“So, Sir,” asked Joe, “what do you think of Lady Georgiana’s version of events?”
John sucked on a piece of straw. “It’s difficult to say but quite honestly I tend to believe her.”
“You do, eh.” Joe went very quiet, the light blue eyes gazing into the middle distance, and John knew from his look that the clerk was deep in thought. Eventually he said, “Tell me, Sir, what kind of woman she is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Is she a foolish flap or does she have strength?”
“A combination of the two,” John answered. “She’s fickle in her views but I believe she has a tough backbone.”
“How tough?”
“I don’t know, Joe. At a guess I would say she’s pretty strong — I mean, she was considering running away with Michael O’Callaghan while her husband was alive, and that takes some doing.”
Joe’s eyes took on that faraway look once again. “I think I’d better speak with her,” he said.
“Changing the subject utterly, how is Eclipse?”
“I can announce to the world that he is cured.”
“Does Princess Amelia know?”
“She does. She intends to make public tonight the fact that she is packing up this house in two days time.”
“Oh ‘zounds and ‘zooters,” exclaimed John. “We’ll never catch the villain in that short space.”
“That’s where I think you’re wrong, Sir. I think his or her lordship is about to strike again.”
“You do?”
“I’m certain of it. They must be flushed with triumph that nobody has suspected them so far. Now, what I want you to do is stay in the house and stay put. Keep your eyes everywhere.”
“But the place is enormous, Joe.”
“You’ll find a way, Sir. I have every confidence.”
“And what about you? What are you going to do?”
“Me, Sir? I am going to reveal myself for who I truly am. Tonight I am going to see the Princess herself.”
“And what are you going to say to her?”
“I’ve no idea at present,” Joe answered cheerfully. And with that the clerk turned away and started polishing some bridle brass, whistling to himself as he did so.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Leaving Joe in the stables, John walked back through the setting sun. The snow was not on the ground but in many ways the late afternoon brought the occasion of Emilia’s death vividly to mind. Though not as cold there were so many similarities that he paused for a moment and drew a breath or two to calm himself. He only hoped that Joe was right, that the murderer would strike again and this time they would be waiting for him or her.
His thoughts turned to Elizabeth and just for a moment he was brutally honest with himself. He longed for her so much and yet she was so powerful a woman that he could not face the thought of anything permanent. He had been in love with Emilia and no one else could ever take her place. Yet, like a mighty river, his love flowed into tributaries, and in common with the whole of mankind he longed for company. So this was to be his dilemma. He was caught in the trap that enfolds all humanity.
He walked on, then for a moment thought she had come back to him. With the dying sun shining on the Round Pond, blinding him, he could see the shape of a woman, blackly etched against the sunset. She stood motionless, looking in his direction. John could not help himself; he broke into a run towards her. But as he got closer he saw that it was Priscilla who was standing there, smiling at him. She held out her hands.
“John, my dear, you look agitated. Is anything the matter?”
He felt like answering that the entire situation was enough to make anyone discomposed but decided against it.
“No, nothing. I didn’t recognise you, that’s all.”
She dimpled at him. “Come, Sir, I would have thought you know me well enough by now.”
“The sun was in my eyes.”
“Oh, I see.”
She slipped her arm through his. “John …”
“Yes?”
“Oh, nothing. This isn’t the time. Will you walk me back to the house?”
“Of course,” John answered, and headed off in the direction of Princess Amelia’s residence.
Priscilla, who was becomingly arrayed in a soft grey cloak with a hood, must have sensed his mood for she said little as they progressed side-by-side. Finally, though, she spoke.
“I don’t suppose I shall see you again after tomorrow.”
He turned on her a look of astonishment. “Why?”
“Because Eclipse is better and the Princess intends to close up the house and return to London. She says she has had enough of death and despair and one can hardly blame her. I shall go back with her and then I shall have to find employment elsewhere.” She looked at him from her small eyes, obviously expecting him to say something, but when nothing was forthcoming, went on, “John, will you be looking for someone to care for little Rose?”
So that was the way her mind was working. Hastily, John said, “You realise that I a
m still wanted in connection with my wife’s murder. Until I am cleared I am not going to be in a position to employ anyone.” Priscilla slowed her pace. “I suppose you’re right. But when you’re exonerated, as you will be, kindly remember me.”
He did not know how to answer her so he said nothing. But he knew in his heart that he would never employ her, convinced that she had grown fond of him and was probably after more than simply caring for his daughter. Keeping his eyes steadfastly in front of him, John walked on.
He entered the house to sense an air of excitement, which, he thought, had lifted the atmosphere completely. Lady Hampshire was in the large reception vestibule talking spiritedly to Dr. Phipps, who was listening politely. They both turned as John came in with Priscilla, and John saw a gleam in Milady’s eye which made him realise that she was seeing them as a couple, albeit in his guise of Colonel Melville. His heart sank further at the thought.
“My dears,” Lady Hampshire said immediately, “you will hardly credit what has happened.”
“What, Madam?” Priscilla enquired.
“The ostler from the stables has arrived here, quite smartly dressed, and it turns out he was working for Sir John Fielding all along. He is presently ensconced with the Princess herself.”
“Gracious! Are you sure?”
“Positive. Apparently she granted him an audience because he has been so good to Eclipse. Seems he knows all about horses too. A regular Jack of all trades.”
“More like a Jack in office,” Priscilla said sharply. “To think he’s been here spying.”
“He’s been helping to find the murderer,” John commented drily.
Priscilla fluttered in his direction. “Of course you’re right, Colonel. It’s just that his secrecy seems so intrusive somehow.”
“I can’t agree with that,” he replied, looking straight at her, and as he could have predicted, she dropped her eyes.
Gerald Naill came in from the direction of the garden, looking rather flushed. “Seems the ostler was Sir John’s man, by God. I wonder who he is going to arrest.”
“What makes you say that?” This from Dr. Phipps. “I don’t know exactly.” Gerald looked crafty. “But someone is going to get the chop up, I feel it.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Lady Hampshire. Then her expression changed as she remembered the recent incident regarding the ring. She gave John a guilty look.
He was wondering what to say next, literally changing his weight from one foot to the other, when
315 the door to Princess Amelia’s red salon opened unexpectedly and a footman appeared.
“Colonel Melville, would you be so good as to attend Her Highness.”
So this is it, the Apothecary thought. For better or worse my true identity is about to be revealed. Aloud he said, “Certainly,” bowed to the assembled company and solemnly followed the servant into Princess Amelia’s private sanctum.
It was not a room he had been in before and he was immediately struck by its splendour. Wonderful red and gold wallpaper adorned the walls, which were finished with fine curtains, pale pink with deep red flowers adorning their length. Tied with bows to a rod above, they hung from ceiling to floor, swishing graciously downwards. Above the marble fireplace, picked out in gilt, was a panel with a beautifully painted classical scene. But dominating all was a glorious crystal chandelier, presently in the process of being lit by a servant. Bowing deeply to the Princess, John was solemnly ushered to a seat. He sat down in silence and waited for someone to speak.
Joe Jago, looking quite handsome in a smart suit of dark blue embroidered with silver, waited for the footman to leave the room, then he turned to John.
“Mr. Rawlings, you may reveal yourself to Her Highness. I have spoken to her in confidence and she has forgiven you your deception.”
Feeling totally unconfident, John slowly removed his eye-patch, then his wig. Then he stood up while the Princess stared at him.
“So, Sir, apparently you did not kill your wife,” she said finally.
“No, Madam, I did not.”
“Then why were you found with the knife in your hand?”
“I did not know I even had it. All I do know was that I found her dying and held her close to my heart. I was not aware of the passing of time. In fact, I was aware of nothing until the search party came looking for me.”
“You had the look of guilt about you.”
“I can assure you, Ma’am, that I am not guilty of the crime, nor any of the others. I disguised myself as Colonel Melville because I was desperate to gain entry to the house and find the murderer for myself.”
“He speaks the truth, Highness,” said Joe. “I have known Mr. Rawlings for several years and I would trust him with my life.”
For some reason John found this statement so touching that despite his resolution tears filled his eyes and he was forced to turn away and wipe them with a handkerchief. When he had recovered himself he turned back to Princess Amelia thinking that he must look a total fool. The red in his hair was growing out so that now, wigless, he looked like a child’s drawing of the sun. Further he was certain that he had dirty streaks on his face. Swallowing hard, John tried to smile.
She gave him a surprisingly gentle glance. “So it would appear that I was wrong about you.”
“Yes, Ma’am, I think you were.”
“So who do you believe is responsible for these crimes?”
John shrugged expressive shoulders. “Highness, I have no idea. Someone in your household I would imagine.”
“Vie do you say zat? Could it not be a person unknown?”
“But what motive would they have? Surely it has to be someone who is on the inside.” Suddenly John found himself blurting out the story of his hiding in Lady Theydon’s bedroom and the conversation he had overheard while doing so.
Princess Amelia listened in silence, eventually saying, “That would appear to prove it, though not necessarily.”
“What do you mean, Ma’am?” asked Joe.
“It is possible that her visitor was not from this house.”
“It is indeed possible but not probable,” Joe answered firmly. “I agree with Mr. Rawlings. The killer lies within.”
“With, of course, the exception of Michael O’Callaghan.”
“But he has gone, surely,” put in the Princess.
“No, Ma’am,” said John carefully. “He is still around; working at Bellow’s Farm to be precise.”
“Oh the rascal. I suppose he could not leave the side of his beloved.” A devious look came over her face. “The death of Lord Hope has certainly eased the path of that pair of thwarted lovers.”
“It has indeed,” replied Joe weightily. “I feel I ought to tell you, Highness, that Miss Fleming believes that the killer meant to do for her rather than for Mrs. Rawlings.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
John and Joe exchanged a look, realising that they were treading on dangerous ground.
“Well, why?” the Princess asked emphatically.
Joe cleared his throat. “She tells an extraordinary tale, Ma’am. Namely that she bore the bastard son of your nephew, the King, and that since the child’s death people have been out to finish her off.”
The Princess turned on them a gaze of astonishment. “But that is utter rubbish. My nephew was a total innocent until he fell into the clutches of Sarah Lennox. But his mother soon put paid to that little plot hatched by the Fox family, and now the King is happily married.”
John caught himself thinking that if there was any reality to Priscilla’s story the relationship would have been conducted in the utmost secrecy.
It appeared that Joe was having the same idea, for he said, “Indeed, Ma’am, it is hard to know what to believe.”
The Princess gave a snort. “The wish was father to the thought, I reckon.”
John said, “But do we have an inkling who has committed the crimes?”
“Not as yet,” Joe answered. “But we shall soon, believe me.
”
Feeling decidedly the worse for wear, John went to his room and there washed his face, remembering as he did so the occasion on which Elizabeth had come in unexpectedly. Now he felt slightly ashamed of the way he had treated her, holding her so close and kissing her so deeply.
He sat down on the bed and thought about her, remembering their first meeting when she had been dressed as a man. Yet despite her slightly masculine build Elizabeth was a true woman, a woman who yearned for love. A love which one day he would give her, he knew. He wondered then if he were starting to recover from Emilia’s death but realised that, in common with all mankind, it was physical longing that made the Marchesa so very important to him. But was it just that alone? Thinking of everything that had passed between them, John knew that it was the woman herself who was so vital to him.
He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes, and must have briefly dropped off to sleep because when he looked at his watch an hour had gone by. Wondering what stage Joe Jago had reached, John struggled into an evening coat of the Prince’s — altered by Priscilla — and went downstairs.
Everyone must have been changing for dinner because the place was deserted and John wandered amongst the grand chambers, climbing the stairs in his search and even going to the room in which Emilia had performed the masque. There was no one around other than for the servants.
“Do you happen to know where Mr. Jago is?” he enquired of a footman.
“He has gone to see Lady Georgiana, Sir. He has been in with her for almost an hour.”
“Good gracious. Ah well, thank you.”
He turned to descend the staircase again and then suddenly a door somewhere burst open and the frantic figure of Milady appeared running down the corridor towards John.
“Save me,” she gasped.
“From what, Ma’am?”
“From that terrible man. He has been questioning me and now he is going to make an arrest.”
John stared at her blankly. “Of whom, pray?”
“Why, of me of course.”
But it was too late. Joe was marching purposefully down the passageway and had caught Georgiana up.