by Nicola Pryce
James Polcarrow shook his head. ‘No evidence whatsoever. There’s no proof at all. The only thing on our side is that we suspect him and he, as yet, doesn’t know we do. He may discover Amelia has whisked Pierre de la Croix away from his clutches, but until he sees that jacket he’ll not suspect she, or any of us, are questioning his true identity. Our priority is to keep Constance and George Halliday safe. I believe we should take George into our confidence – but no one else. We’ll have to get advice . . . maybe even set a trap.’
Papa had poured several large glasses of brandy. He handed one to Mother. ‘Yes, indeed. Set an ambush. He can’t keep up this pretence – not now we know. Brandy, Luke? James, Rose . . . You all look like you need one. Here, Connie, you’ve had a terrible shock.’
They took a glass in turn, James Polcarrow finishing his in one quick gulp. ‘Rose and I will go straight to George. Then I intend to wake up my very good friend Matthew Reith and pick his brains about how to proceed.’
We walked James and Rose to the door. Mother took a candle and handed one to me, following me up the stairs as I knew she would. We closed the door, and I drew out the cream purse with its blue satin ribbon, laying out the letters on my desk. There was no discernible difference in the handwriting, no trace of the switch, and tears flooded my cheeks.
‘How could anyone be so evil?’
She held me to her. ‘He must have taken one of Edmund’s letters with him. He would have had to copy it very carefully.’
‘I think he’d been studying Edmund’s writing for years. He thought he’d be safe, that none of us would suspect, but even with the belladonna, he can’t hide the rage in his eyes.’
‘Why use belladonna?’
‘Because head injuries can cause large pupils . . . and belladonna distorts the function of the eyes – it’s a clever ruse to appear blinded by the cannon’s fire so he can wear shaded glasses. Perhaps he knows eyes are considered windows to the soul, and he can’t hide what others will see in there.’
‘Francis must have seen the church register before Lady Melville tore it out. He must have stood, side by side, with Edmund and seen too many similarities between them – so close in age, all four grandparents. They were a mirror to each other, too similar for it to be a coincidence. He decided long ago he would swap places with Edmund but he needed time to be away. He must have blackmailed Sir Richard in order to have funds to finance those years away.’
‘He terrorized Edmund, Mother. Perhaps he thought he’d drive him insane. And then the perfect opportunity arose and he was ready to snatch it – right from the start he must have been planning to do Edmund harm.’
‘The poor boy . . . the poor, poor boy. I think you’re right. Do you remember Edmund was distraught at the thought his father was to send them to Sumatra? Yet I remember when Sir Richard told us, I saw such brilliance in Francis’s eyes. They lit up, cold and calculating, yet burning as if it was the best news he could have been given. I think he planned it then – a long journey, a terrible accident, and he’d swap places with his step-brother. All he had to do was remain away long enough for no one to recognize him.’
‘I think he received the letter from Lady Melville telling him about Sir Richard’s death. He told me it never reached him – and her letter wasn’t among his personal effects – but I think he threw it overboard. He knew his father had died. All he had to do was come home and murder Lady Melville and Mrs Alston. That’s why he came back. When he was here in November he found out I was in love with Luke and assumed I’d call off our betrothal, only I didn’t.’
‘He’ll make a mistake, Amelia. Sir James will inform Matthew Reith. He’s the foremost attorney in Cornwall. He’ll find a way to trap him.’
Chapter Forty-nine
Town House, Truro
Tuesday 13th February 1798, 11 a.m.
Bethany pinned my last hairclip in place, her fingers fumbling as she tried to do up the clasp.
‘No, perhaps a bit higher. There. That’s better.’ She had washed my hair and dried it by the fire, her eyes glancing at the portrait in my hands. She cleared her throat. ‘I’ve been thinking . . . a lot . . . I don’t want ye to worry. I’ll go with ye to Pendowrick, Miss Amelia. I’ll leave Truro and I’ll come with ye.’
My heart jolted. ‘Thank you . . . That’s very kind of you, but there’s no need for either of us to leave Truro. Neither of us will ever live in Pendowrick.’
Her cheeks flushed, a sudden hopeful smile. She returned the brush to my dressing table and picked up the damp towels, darting round the room as she tidied everything away. She glanced out of the window. ‘Oh, it looks like ye have a visitor, Miss Amelia. Isn’t that Mrs Oakley running across the square? Young Mrs Oakley – the Portuguese lady?’
I hurried down the stairs. Sofia Oakley was handing her cloak to the footman. She looked radiant, an enormous smile lighting her face. She was slightly breathless, curtseying quickly, smiling at me with such elation. ‘Oh, Miss Carew, I had to come straight here, you and Lady Clarissa have been so kind to me . . . I had to come to tell you.’
She was carrying a small basket and reached into it. ‘I’ve just received this letter from Mrs Fox . . . it’s such good news.’ Tears pooled in her large brown eyes, her cheeks flushing.
‘Come into the drawing room. Mother will want to know.’
Mother was at her writing desk, Connie reading by the blazing fire. Both looked surprised as I hurried Sofia through the door. I needed Connie with me. I knew what the letter must contain.
Sofia handed the letter to Mother. ‘I’ve just received this letter, Lady Clarissa. My silks were insured – clever Mr Daniel had taken out further insurance. The ship might have been sailing without escort but he’d paid extra for that. He needed his spices to reach the Christmas market, so he doubled the insurance for the ship to sail. Which means that as soon as he can identify me, I can claim the insurance. Mrs Fox says she’s bound to trace him through her contacts. Apparently, he’s already put in a claim for his spices so that’s . . . Well, it’s the most wonderful news.’
The colour drained from Connie’s face, but Mother was thrilled. ‘My dearest, how wonderful. Of course Elizabeth will find Mr Daniel. He’ll be able to swear to the insurers that you were on the ship, and that you are who you say you are. It really is wonderful news. I’m so pleased for you.’
She rang the bell for refreshments and I watched the anguish in Connie’s eyes. Edmund’s shipment, ordered all those years ago, would arrive in time to save the family estate. We should be celebrating, but both of us knew Edmund would never have wanted his beloved Pendowrick saved by such callous disregard for life. Philip Daniel had sailed those men straight to their deaths.
My stomach tightened, remembering how Francis had sat reading the letter – claiming it was his shipment, his spices. Taking the credit as if he were Edmund.
‘I’m so sorry, I can’t stay for any refreshments, Lady Clarissa. I’m on my way to find Dr Bohenna. I searched all day for him yesterday, but his mother said he was away. Joe’s wheezing is much better after Dr Bohenna’s treatment, but he’s developed a rash. It’s not painful or itchy, but it’s getting worse and I’m very worried.’
‘A rash – on his body or his arms and legs?’ I tried to hide my rising panic.
‘It covers his throat and chest, Miss Carew.’
‘Does he feel hot? Does he have signs of a fever?’
‘Perhaps a little. He was shivering this morning – we’re neither of us used to this cold weather.’
‘May I come with you? I’d like a walk and I’d to see this rash. Can I go, Mother?’
Mother nodded and I reached for my hat and cloak, pulling on the fine kid gloves Elizabeth had given me for my birthday. Bethany was right behind us, smiling back at me as she tied the ribbons on her hat. The day was overcast, a blanket of grey clouds threatening rain. There was no sign of the wind that had blown us across the sea, just the cold and damp of a February day. I tried not to look
concerned. A rash on the throat and chest . . . Luke would need to see that.
The pavements were busy, the usual bustle and noise increasing as we got nearer the quayside. ‘Dr Bohenna will be in his rooms behind the library. I think we should try there first.’
A man was hurrying in front of us, his head bent, white shoulder-length hair flowing beneath his hat. He wore a long black coat, black boots and was limping, carrying a black leather bag in one hand, leaning on a heavy cane with the other. ‘Oh, my goodness – look! That man fits the description Mrs Hambley gave Pierre . . . Quick. It may be the horse doctor. I have to follow him.’
We had to walk faster, dodging the crowds coming towards us. The old man was striding purposefully and people were moving quickly to get out of his way. He fitted the description perfectly. He looked to be in his seventies, but his movements were strong. ‘Quick, we’re losing him. He’s among that crowd there. Where’s he gone?’ I looked up and down the quayside but there was no sign of him. ‘Did you see where he went, Bethany?’
She shook her head and I turned to look again. I would have to warn Dr Nankivell. He must put up more posters; people must not be taken in by this quack. I searched the crowds again, scanning the gangplanks and decks of the ships, but he had completely disappeared. A group of men were crowding round a man with a mechanical monkey, but he was not among them. He was nowhere to be seen. A stack of crates were just in front of me and I hitched up my skirt, climbing to the top of them. I could see over the heads of everyone and a sudden movement of black caught my eye, a glimpse of white hair.
‘Sofia – he’s gone into your shop. He’s just entered the door.’
We ran along the cobbles as fast as we could, but when we reached her shop, I drew her back, watching the man through the small leaded window. He was talking to Mrs Oakley, his back to us. She was shaking her head but he was taking no notice; instead, he was opening his bag and laying out his bottles.
‘Go in,’ I whispered, ‘keep him talking. Make him think you’re going to buy his medicines. Get him to explain everything but just keep him talking. Don’t taste anything. Do you understand? Don’t try anything. His medicines are harmful. They don’t cure, they kill.’
I turned to Bethany. ‘Go and get Luke. Tell him the horse doctor is with Mrs Oakley. Tell him to hurry. Sofia, is there a back way into the shop?’
‘Yes, down the alley. It’s the door with a new plank of wood. It’s right in the middle of the row. It won’t be locked so you can just go through. You really want me to buy his medicines?’
‘Yes – no – yes. Buy as many as you can – whatever you do, just keep him with you until Luke arrives. Bethany, after you’ve found Luke, go for Dr Nankivell and tell him to come at once. Then watch the front of the shop and follow him if he leaves. Can you do all that?’
‘Course I can.’
She was off, and I leaned against the red bricks as Sofia opened the door. She stood frowning on the doorstep. ‘And who are you?’ I heard her ask.
‘I’m Dr Lovelace,’ replied a Scottish accent. ‘I’m in Truro and I’m finding so much more illness then there should be. I’ve my medicines with me, and I can see this poor wee lad is not well at all.’
‘I doubt we can afford your medicines, Doctor – though I’d try anything for my poor boy.’
‘That, my dear lady, is where I differ from the greedy physicians that hold you all to ransom. My medicines are affordable. May I show you what I recommend?’
‘Doctor, I believe you’ve been sent straight from heaven. Can we shut the shop for a little while, Margaret – just while this good doctor examines Joe?’
The door closed and I heard her turn the lock. The alley was only accessible from the end of the quay and I ran like I’ve never run before, dodging men rolling barrels, the nets left drying against the houses, the empty crates of fish. I found the entrance hidden behind a large cart and ran down the wet cobbles. It was strewn with rubbish and broken glass, a ditch overflowing down one side, and I picked up my skirt, hurling myself along the filthy passage, searching for a door with a new plank of wood.
It was right in the middle and I stopped to catch my breath, knowing I would have to be quiet. I lifted the latch, leaving the door half-open behind me. The kitchen was dark, exceptionally neat, the table scrubbed clean. A basket of clean laundry stood on the table, two newly baked loaves by its side. Ahead of me, a heavy curtain hung instead of a door and I peeped through a tiny gap at the side.
The horse doctor had spread out his medicines. His woollen gloves were open at the top, the tips of his fingers caressing the bottles. White hair fell to his shoulders, his long bushy beard moving as he spoke. A pair of heavy white eyebrows rose and fell above the thick iron frames of his glasses and even from behind the curtains, I recognized the exact bottles I had thrown into Lady Melville’s fire, the exact same bottle I had taken out of Pierre de la Croix’s hands.
‘I believe I have everything you might need. Will you raise that shirt of yours, my wee man, and let me take a listen to your chest?’ He reached for Joe’s pulse at his neck, lifting Joe’s chin with his long tapering fingers. He leaned closer and I watched him carefully. Something looked wrong. Beneath the thick black coat seemed too strong a frame for an old man – his shoulders were bent, he had a definite stoop, but they were broader than I would expect in a man with such white hair.
He had heavy lines on his face, his cheeks swollen, his upper lip covered by his bushy moustache, but he seemed to move with undue ease, showing no stiffness for a man who needed a cane. His voice was soft, persuasive, a definite Scottish accent.
‘A rash like this . . . coupled with a wheeze . . . is not good, I’m afraid. The child has all the signs of worms, dear lady. Not worms in your stomach, but worms in his lungs. Has he been on a sea voyage? I usually only see this level of contagion in sailors.’
Sofia clasped her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide with terror. ‘Oh, yes, Doctor. We’ve been at sea until quite recently, and for a very long time. Are you telling me there are worms in my beloved son’s lungs? Can you cure him, Doctor? Can you rid him of them?’
The horse doctor kept his back to me as if he was watching the door. Mrs Oakley was clearly distressed, and Sofia rushed to take her hand. He turned to speak to them, and I saw his face clearly. His glasses looked familiar and I stared at the heavy rims, blood rushing from my head. I had seen those glasses before – those very glasses, just two nights ago.
The black coat leaned over the terrified boy. Joe was pulling back from him, but Sofia was smiling, nodding for him to let the doctor examine him further.
‘Open your mouth for me, ye poor wee man. Oh yes . . . dearie me . . . it’s definitely the contagion you get from the weevils in ship’s biscuits. It’s not safe what they give those poor men. They need limes and fruit, not insect-infested biscuits. They lay their eggs in the timbers of the ships and when they hatch they have to find a body to infect. They’re too small to see but they travel round your blood and once you’ve got them, they eat your organs and you just wither and die.’
‘No!’
‘But I have drops that will clear away these worms in no time – at very little cost to such a lovely lady and such a poor wee mite.’ He reached for his bottle, pulling out the cork. ‘Here now, let’s see if these drops work. We usually tell straight away. Here . . . open your mouth, wee laddie. ’
Sofia rushed forward, cradling Joe in her arms. ‘Worms in his throat?’
Behind me, I heard the faintest noise and Luke slipped to my side. I did not speak but pointed to the other end of the curtain and he leaned forward to watch.
‘Aye, it’s worms all right, in the back of his throat. They’re in that huge red lump, dangling there, as plain as plain. I’ve seen this time and time again, but I can put your mind at ease – I’ve just what he needs. And you, my poor wee lassie, you must have some too, because if your son’s got the worms, you’ll have the worms. Only it’s easier and much better
to get them before they cause this rash.’
‘We’ll buy the vial, Doctor – in fact, we’ll take two. I can’t thank you enough. But, here, let me give them to him – my Joe’s a delicate boy and he gets frightened by strangers. Tell me, Doctor, have you anything I can take for my sore joints? I’ve terrible aches since the damp of the voyage – burning joints, all the time. It’s not the worms in my joints, is it?’
He put down the vial and held her wrist up to the light. ‘Och, you poor wee lassie, it’s as like as not. They lay their eggs in the joints. It gets so painful, I’ve seen grown men cry.’
I could do nothing but stare at his glasses. Nothing else was the same. His face looked fuller, the white hair must be a wig, the beard false, the bushy white eyebrows stuck on with glue. He was clearly a master of poisons, but why poison Mrs Oakley and her son? I put my hand on Luke’s sleeve, pulling him back through the kitchen. Once outside in the filthy alley, I leaned against the bricks.
‘It’s Francis, Luke, I know it is, and he means to poison them. He got to Pierre before us – only Pierre was busy in the garden and he sold his poison to Mrs Hambley. I recognize the glasses. You saw them that night – they’re the same, aren’t they? That can’t be a coincidence.’
Luke ran his hand across his mouth. ‘Yes, I saw the glasses. That’s a young man’s movements . . . it has to be him. He tried to kill Lady Melville and Mrs Alston with his poison, but you intervened and stopped them in time. I’ll get James – and Major Trelawney. Stop Mrs Oakley from taking anything – they’re not to have a single drop.’
‘I’ve told her not to – she won’t. And I told her to keep him talking but I don’t know how much longer she can hold him.’
‘Stay here. I’ll be straight back. Why does he want to hurt them?’
‘I don’t know. Hurry, Luke – hurry.’
I stepped back into the dark kitchen, tiptoeing across the stone floor to the heavy curtain. Sofia had her skirt pulled up and was unrolling her stocking. ‘And here, Doctor. See this horrible red bruise? I’ve had it as long as the journey. You’re a doctor, so you won’t mind me rolling down my stocking like this – showing it to you. Only with worms and such, could these be eggs as well?’