Death in the West Wind

by Deryn Lake

“However, tomorrow I shall wear some Dutch clothes and see how you like them, for I can tell by your own array that you are a connoisseur of style, Sir.”

  John bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Then we await the meeting with pleasure.”

  So saying, the three exchanged salutations and parted company.

  “What do you make of that?” asked the Apothecary as soon as they were out of earshot.

  “I think that he is frightened.”

  John gazed at his wife in astonishment. “What a curious word to use. Do you mean it literally?”

  “Not in fear for his life, no. But he is very afraid. Do you think it is for his daughter? Do you believe that she has fallen in with bad company?”

  The new husband held his bride at arm’s length. “What an acute little creature you are.

  I would never have credited you with being so observant.”

  “I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.”

  “Be neither. Just let me kiss you.”

  So she did, several times, there in the April afternoon, before she and John continued their walk along The Strand.

  At the end of the pathway lay a vast expanse of water, the meeting of two rivers at high tide, the confluence heading out for the open sea and finding it at Exmouth. At low tide there was nothing but mud flats, the Exe reduced to a narrow channel, but seen like this the sight was inspiring.

  “What’s this place called?”

  “ Riversmeet. Where the Exe and the Clyst find one another,” John answered.

  “Rather a romantic thought, two rivers conjoining.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  “Is that a bowling green over there?”

  “Yes. I can’t think of a more picturesque location, can you? I must have a game before we go.”

  “And I must see the show put on by the Company of Comedians. I noticed a poster advertising it as we drove in.”

  John hugged her to him. “Are you enjoying your honeymoon?”

  “Yes, let’s hope nothing happens to interrupt it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Emilia looked vague. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s just that trouble seems to follow you about, John.”

  The Apothecary laughed scornfully. “Not on honeymoon, it doesn’t.”

  His bride put her finger to his lips. “Don’t tempt fate, my darling. One simply never knows what is going to happen next.”

  * * *

  Though the exterior of Shell House, Jan van Guylder’s home, was obviously sixteenth century, much modernisation had taken place within. Small rooms had been knocked into several large ones and low ceilings had been raised, that of the drawing room adorned by an enriched oval from which hung a magnificent chandelier. Blue delftware tiles from Holland lined the fireplace, which was surrounded by a carved wooden frame, while in the corner was a newly built and extremely elegant wig cupboard. A moulded cherub’s head adorned the arch leading into the dining room and similarly that above the stairs. Yet in the midst of all this fashionable comfort there was no sign of a Mrs. van Guylder; in fact the Dutchman greeted his guests alone. After a while John’s curiosity got the better of him and he asked the inevitable question. “Do you live here just with your daughter, Sir?”

  Van Guylder shook his head. “No, I also have a son. He is studying at the Grammar School in Exeter. He boards there but comes home to attend divine service in Topsham every Sunday, so you will meet him.”

  “And Mrs. van Guylder?” asked Emilia.

  “Dead, alas. We had a third child, another boy, but my wife was not strong and neither of them survived the birth. She was English, you know. A member of the Gibbs family. I met her through their trading contacts with Holland and decided to settle in Devon. I believe that my daughter’s erratic behaviour can be linked directly to the early loss of her mother.”

  Emilia nodded sympathetically. “I am sure you are right. It is not easy for a man to bring up a girl single-handedly, particularly as she has no sisters.”

  Jan looked apologetic. “I begged her to join us this evening, thinking different company might enliven her, but she pleads the headache and asks that you will forgive her.”

  “Of course,” said John. He put on his helpful face from the range of expressions that he found he could these days summon up at a moment’s notice. “Would you care for me to go and see her, Sir? I am an apothecary by trade and perhaps could prescribe something.”

  The Dutchman slowly shook his head. “I don’t think she would agree. She has already refused a visit from our physician who is an old friend of the family. I doubt very much that she would see a stranger.”

  “As she wishes, naturally.”

  “But I do thank you for the offer. I only say no because I know how difficult she can be.”

  “Indeed,” said John, and a notion came to him which firmly took root.

  The door opened and a youth of about sixteen came into the room, pausing in the doorway as he saw the guests, then gazing open-mouthed at Emilia.

  Van Guylder got to his feet, announcing, “My son Richard.” The boy bowed, his pimply face flushing as he did so. The Dutchman turned to Emilia. “Madam, may I present him to you?”

  She inclined her head. “Of course.”

  His father made the appropriate introduction while Richard bowed and flushed more than ever. At Emilia’s husband, however, he shot a look of curiosity tinged with something that John thought of as unease. Coming to the conclusion that the entire family was somewhat odd, the Apothecary made small talk until dinner was served.

  It was just as they were going in to dine that the unexpected happened. A flustered-looking maidservant appeared and breathlessly informed van Guylder that Miss Juliana was much recovered and would be joining them after all. Swiftly ordering another place to be laid, the Dutchman led the way in, his face grim and set.

  She timed her entrance well, waiting until everybody was seated then hovering a moment before making her way to the foot of the table, opposite her father. In the gleam of candlelight the silver-gilt hair shone as if it had a life of its own and John saw Emilia straighten her shoulders as she realised that a beauty to rival hers had come into the room. In fact they were not unalike, both fairheaded and small, with exquisite little faces. But whereas Emilia glowed with newly- married contentment, a smile never far away from her lips, Juliana was molten with secret thoughts, her eyes shuttered lest she should reveal their hidden mysteries, her mouth petulant but provocative. Looking at her, John felt certain that his theory was correct.

  “I am glad that you have recovered from the headache, Madam,” he ventured. “I make quite a study of that particular complaint.”

  She shot him an uninterested glance. “Oh really.”

  “I am an apothecary,” John persisted, “and over the years have observed the manner in which my horde of different patients have been afflicted by certain illnesses. From this I drew the conclusion that some ailments, headaches in particular, can be caused by many things. In other words, people are subjected to them for various reasons.”

  “I would have thought as much,” she answered acidly.

  Jan shot her a reproving glance. “I, too, have suffered from them recently and in my case the malaise is brought about by worry.”

  “Certainly one of the causes,” John answered pleasantly.

  “What are the others?” asked Richard.

  The Apothecary shrugged a fashionable shoulder. “There are so many. Tension, eye strain, a surfeit of wine, general debility, to name but a few.”

  “I get them at school,” the spotty boy replied thoughtfully. “I reckon that would be too much studying. Indeed I shall be glad to get out of the academic place and on to Oxford.”

  Emilia laughed. “Surely that will be equally academic.”

  “But at least I’ll be treated as a scholar and not some grubby little inker.”

  She laughed again, much amused, and Richard looked suitably gratified.

  H
is sister bent her head toward him, her hair glistening. “Won’t you miss all your “ friends?”

  It was an innocent enough remark but he paused, his fork arrested on its journey to his mouth. “What do you mean?” he said thickly.

  Juliana smiled. “Simply that. Won’t you miss your friends?”

  “Yes,” Richard answered, filled his mouth, swallowed, then gulped noisily.

  What a curious exchange, thought John. Van Guylder clearly felt the need to explain. “The Grammar School is very good, you know, even though Richard complains of hard work. It was founded in the reign of Charles I for the instruction of the sons of freemen. Now, however, it caters for the offspring of the middle classes. Nonetheless, younger boys from the aristocracy appear there from time to time and I must say that Richard has got in with a very good social set. He is invited to some splendid homes. He has even been to stay with the Rolles.”

  Emilia looked blank and Juliana, over- sweetly, said, “A very prominent family. John Rolle has been a Member of Parliament for Exeter.”

  “How fortunate for you,” came the equally sweet reply, “that your brother moves in such circles. That must open many doors for you too, Miss van Guylder.”

  Richard rushed in with all the naivety of youth. “My friends call Juliana, “the Belle”.”

  “How lovely,” said Emilia, smiling sugar.

  To say, thought John, surveying them, that this was a family not at ease with itself was understating the case. Tensions and hidden thoughts bubbled just beneath the surface, particularly emanating from the complex Juliana, whom he had already marked down as a bitch with a secret. So it was a relief when the two ladies retired and he was left alone with the Dutchman and his son. Port was passed and an odd kind of peace descended beneath the blue clouds of good Dutch tobacco smoked in long pipes made in Topsham, the bowls decorated with marguerites, the motif of the town’s patron saint, Margaret.

  “Juliana is very beautiful,” said John, speaking his thoughts aloud.

  “Too much so for her own good,” Jan answered gloomily.

  “How can anyone be too beautiful?” said Richard, sounding just fractionally drunk. “That remark is nonsensical, Father.”

  “If I may say, you know nothing about it, boy. You are still a child in the ways of the world and if you are going to speak to me so, I would suggest you go to your room and stay there.”

  His son rose to his feet, his face pale, his” pimples on fire. “I know a great deal more about the world than you imagine, Sir. But I shall do as you wish and leave the company.

  Good night to you, Mr. Rawlings.” Richard turned in the doorway. “One day you’ll find out just how much I understand about society, my dear father. And I look forward to you doing so.”

  So saying, he was gone, leaving John to gaze at his host in rather an embarrassed silence.

  * * *

  “I did not enjoy that occasion,” said Emilia, stretching out beside her husband in the fresh white linen of their bed in The Salutation. “I thought it was most rude of them to argue like that in front of us.”

  “It was certainly very difficult for the guests, though the three of “em didn’t so much disagree as make digs at one another. I pity poor van Guylder his situation, I truly do.”

  “He should enforce greater discipline,” Emilia stated firmly. “That girl needs putting in her place.”

  “I still think she is a victim of circumstance. It can’t have been easy to lose her mother so young.”

  “I suppose you’ll be sorry for that silly, spotty boy next.”

  “Of course I am. He’s clearly in with a crowd of demi-rips and choice spirits who are most likely leading him astray. He’s probably struggling to keep up with them.”

  “You’re so tolerant,” said Emilia with a note of exasperation. “Don’t you ever get cross with anyone?”

  “Frequently,” answered John, and thought of Coralie Clive and how enormously angry he had been with her.

  “But not with me?”

  “No, not with you.”

  “Do you love me?”

  “Of course I do,” he answered and snuggled down beside her in the bed to show her just how much.

  2

  Why John woke quite so punishingly early the next morning he didn’t at first understand. Then he realised that he had not slept deeply but had spent most of the night considering the problems of the van Guylders and worrying about how their situation would resolve. For after Richard had left the room his father had truly opened his heart, relating such a tale of sadly failed relationships that John had felt himself at a loss as to what to say that did not sound trite. His instinct that van Guylder badly needed to talk had proved absolutely right. The man clearly longed for the advice of someone outside not only the family circle but also the busybody grapevine of Topsham. And it had been the Apothecary’s fate, for better or worse, that he had been the one.

  Glancing at his watch, John saw that it was still only half-past five and though there was light in the sky, dawn had not yet broken. Beside him, sweetly serene, Emilia slumbered peacefully, but he was too wide awake to contemplate further sleep. Moving quietly so as not to disturb her, John carefully got out of bed and dressed as best he could in the fitful light. Then opening the bedroom door just enough to slip through, he closed it silently behind him.

  The inn’s servants were already up and at their tasks but despite the tempting smells emanating from the kitchen, the Apothecary decided to have breakfast with his wife and work up an even greater appetite by walking along the riverbank for half an hour. Consequently he wrapped himself in an enveloping cloak, for it was a sharp morning, put his hat on his head and, turning out of the hostelry, made his way to the quays.

  It may have been early but the riverside was already swarming with people. Great ships had come in during the night and now that there was enough light to see, the unloading of their cargoes had begun. Holds stood open and hoists lifted out bundles and barrels and crates which were caught by the brawny-armed dockworkers and carried ashore. In the midst of this activity a coach plied for hire beside a notice reading Topsham to Exeter Return, Runs Twelve Times a Day, One Shilling. Some early travellers were already getting aboard and the Apothecary could not help but glimpse Richard van Guylder, soberly dressed and clearly heading for school before lessons began. However he had not expected to see the beautiful Juliana abroad at this daunting hour. But there she was, being helped into the coach by her brother, clad in a black velvet cloak, pale as a wraith inside its dark folds. Her skin seemed drained, transparent almost, and the expression on her face was so devoid of animation, so lifeless, that she seemed as if she were on the point of death. Judging by her appearance, there could be little doubt that some sort of malaise affected the girl. Desperately concerned for her, John stepped forward. “Miss Juliana, Richard, good morning.” They both jumped and shot him the most guilty of glances and the Apothecary realised that he should have left them alone, that Juliana was probably going to Exeter without her father’s knowledge and the last thing she wanted was to run into someone she knew.

  “Good morning,” Richard answered sullenly, but though her lips moved Juliana did not utter a word.

  John attempted to cover his gaffe. “Just taking the air early, though I must be getting back. My wife will be wondering where I am.” The boy managed a half smile. “Do send her my regards, Sir.”

  The Apothecary decided to do what he had originally intended. Producing a card from an inner pocket he handed it to Juliana. “If you should ever suffer with the headache or any other condition, please don’t hesitate to contact me. I can deal by post and you are probably bored to sobs with all the local apothecaries.”

  She met his eye and a slight flush came into her ashen cheeks, but her words were forceful enough. “If ever I need you I’ll let you know,” she said, and taking the card dropped it into the reticule that hung over her wrist.

  Richard frowned at this but before he could say a wor
d the coachman consulted his watch and called out loudly, “Any more, if you please? We leave punctually in one minute.”

  “Bon voyage,” said John, and raising his hat, bowed a farewell. His last sight of Juliana was looking back at him through the coach’s small rear window, her expression restored to its usual cat-like secrecy, as the carriage moved off to Exeter.

  * * *

  “Where shall we go today?” asked Emilia, spreading marmalade upon a thin slice of toast.

  John, who was tackling a mound of ham and eggs, indicated that his mouth was full and that he could not speak for a moment or two. Then he said, “Down at the harbour some old sea dog told me that a spell of unseasonably hot weather is coming.”

  “I thought it felt rather cold.”

  “So it does, but he explained all that. He said the wind had changed to the north but that it was about to veer westward again, bringing warm weather from the Scilly Isles which, according to him, have been baking hot for the last few days.”

  “He was romancing.”

  “On the contrary. He seemed to know exactly what he was talking about. The Daisy had just come in from Tresco and the crew had told him all about it. He said they were practically black with tan. So, my darling, in view of this I would like to take the opportunity to swim in the sea, it now being the consensus that sea water is as beneficial to the health as that of a spa.”

  “You’re interested in the properties of water, aren’t you?”

  “Did I tell you that?”

  “No, Samuel did. He said you experiment with putting bubbles into drinking water.”

  “I have done in the past, though I still can’t get it right. I thought I might build myself a little laboratory in Kensington and try again.” Emilia smiled. “I can just see you surrounded by gurgling alembics like a magician of ancient legend.”

  “Merlin, perhaps?”

  She considered. “Grow a beard and one could hardly tell the difference.”