Death in the West Wind

by Deryn Lake

  Van Guylder stopped weeping and gazed at the Apothecary transfixed. “Are you saying that she was murdered?”

  “It grieves me to agree that I am.”

  “By whom for God’s sake?”

  “That,” John answered savagely, “is what I intend to find out.”

  There was an awful pause during which the Dutchman turned ash white and retched violently. John, fearing for his upholstery, opened the window and shoved van Guylder’s head out but fortunately it was merely a spasm and the cobbles below remained unscathed. Jan drew his head back in and looked at the younger man.

  “I know who killed her,” he said.

  It was John’s turn to gape. “What?”

  “She had a lover, here in Exeter. She tried to hide it from me but all the signs were there. I became certain that she was with child and I think she came to town to tell him of it. He killed her to silence her, that is what happened.”

  “Who is he? Do you know him?”

  Van Guylder sobbed and shook his head. “No, she never told me. But Richard, does, I am certain of that.”

  The fact that something truly sinister might be lying behind the young man’s non-appearance at school struck the Apothecary forcibly. He hesitated, then decided that it was better to come out with everything than burden the Dutchman with future revelations.

  “Your son is missing from his lessons,” he said quietly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He hasn’t returned to school since his weekend with you.”

  “But today is Wednesday. He caught the coach on Monday morning.”

  “Yes, I know. I saw him.”

  “You what?”

  “Mr. van Guylder,” said John patiently, “it is obvious that I must tell you the whole story. Answer me truly, are you up to hearing it?” The Dutchman nodded but looked so pale around the gills that John decided on another course of action. Putting his head out, he called up to the coachman.

  “Let us take our guest home. He will be better equipped in his own surroundings to deal with all of this. As fast as you can Tom without causing hazard.”

  It was a journey of pure torture. Refusing to rest or sit quietly, van Guylder bombarded the Apothecary with questions which he felt duty bound to answer. In this way, the story of Juliana’s discovery on the deserted ship, though related tactfully, sounded so sinister as to be unreal. Indeed, even as he was telling the tale, John was remembering the ghostly white coach and its terrible occupants and how hard it was proving for him to dismiss the incident as having a perfectly rational explanation. Right at the back of his mind was growing the nasty feeling that there had been something supernatural about the whole affair and that somehow or other the ghost-ship and its solitary passenger might be connected with it.

  But he had practical things to do. The Dutchman, who had wept silently since he had got into the coach, collapsed in a heap as John, omitting all the unpleasant details, described to him how Juliana had been found. Smelling salts were administered, clothing loosened, and a bandage soaked in common water soldier applied to the brow, thus preventing Jan van Guylder from losing consciousness all together. No one had ever been more relieved than when the masts of Topsham came into view and Tom turned the carriage in the direction of Shell House.

  Yet here the situation grew slightly worse as Jan, still sobbing, said, “I pray Richard has returned. At least we can comfort one another in this black hour,” then rushed into his home calling his son’s name.

  John did not know what made him so certain that the spotty boy would still be missing, but certain he was. Groaning audibly, he got out of the carriage and went into the house. Van Guylder was now acting like a man possessed, hurling himself from room to room, throwing open doors and demanding of the bewildered servants where Richard was hiding. So terrible was his manner and his look that a young female domestic started to scream, her high-pitched yells adding to the general pandemonium.

  John, who had brought his medical bag with him even on honeymoon, dashed to the coach to get it and collared Tom to come in and help. Between them they managed to adminster a large dose of Greek Valerian in the form of an infusion, already prepared, down the throat of the loudly protesting Dutchman.

  “What does that do, Sir?” asked the coachman.

  “It is very good in hysteric cases and works wonders with the vapours. Give some to that girl while you’re at it. I want to question the servants.”

  Yet, with one exception, this proved fruitless. Much as they wanted to help, for the news of Juliana’s death had shocked them into stunned silence, there was little they could add. The young mistress had left the house early on Monday morning and had not been seen since.

  “Did she take clothes with her?”

  “Yes, Sir,” said the dead girl’s personal maid, “and a strange selection at that. As well as her travelling dress, which she must have been wearing, she took evening clothes and her very best gown.”

  “So she carried a large bag?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  John thought aloud. “Then the coachman will probably remember her.”

  “Of course he will, Sir. He took Miss Juliana into Exeter quite regular.”

  “So if anybody met her at the other end he would know about it.”

  “Most certainly, Sir.”

  “I must have a word with him.”

  This information was useful but about Richard there was absolutely none. He had left the house for school early on Monday, behaving quite normally, and not a word had been heard of him since. With a growing sense of unease, John went back into the drawing room to find that the Dutchman was reacting to the infusion and quietening down at last.

  It was gone three o’clock and John drew van Guylder’s manservant to one side.

  “I must return to Sidmouth. I have left my wife alone all day and it simply isn’t fair on her to be away a moment longer. As soon as I have quit the house I want you to send for your master’s physician. Tell him all that has taken place and ask him to call. I will leave a note for him about the physick already prescribed.”

  “Will you return tomorrow, Sir?”

  “I don’t know yet. It depends on what is happening at the other end. The constable took Miss Juliana’s body to Exeter mortuary this morning and soon somebody must identify it.”

  “Oh pray God it doesn’t have to be the master.”

  “It more than likely will be,” John answered. “If so, I will escort Mr. van Guylder, that is provided Master Richard doesn’t turn up.”

  “What can have happened to him?” asked the servant, shaking his head.

  “I don’t know,” answered John, but there was an awful leaden feeling in his gut as he said the words.

  * * *

  “I have never,” John called out of the window to Tom, “been more glad to get back home in my life.”

  The carriage was plodding up through the centre of Sidmouth village, heading towards The Anchor, which stood, as before, attractively lit by candles and looking thoroughly picturesque and inviting. Even more inviting was the sight of the beautiful Emilia, standing in the doorway and staring up the track to see if the oncoming vehicle belonged to her husband. As soon as she saw that it did, she flew towards it, smiling and calling his name.

  The Apothecary’s heart lurched. I really love this woman, he thought, and realised simultaneously that he hadn’t considered Coralie for at least two days.

  They went into the inn and sat by the fire. Even though the day had been hot, Matthew Salter had put a tinder to the wood so that its comforting glow might cheer the evening. Sitting on either side of it, each consuming a glass of claret, John in a quiet voice caught Emilia up with the day’s events. She looked thoroughly alarmed as the conversation came round to Richard.

  “What can have happened to him?”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  “Do you think this is connected with Juliana’s death, John?”

  “I do somehow, yet I c
an’t quite see in what way.”

  Emilia drew a breath. “He couldn’t have killed his own sister and gone into hiding, could he?”

  The Apothecary shook his head. “Again, I don’t know. But don’t forget that I believe she was killed by more than one person.”

  His bride’s angelic features contorted. “All this weeping and wailing coming from van Guylder, was it an act?”

  “If it was, it was damnably convincing. I’ve never seen a fellow in such a lather.”

  “I have watched actors on the stage give performances that would wither your soul. They were very convincing too.”

  “I know, I know,” said John. He drained his glass. “Let us change for dinner then let me take you to bed.”

  “There might be time beforehand,” Emilia answered pertly.

  “If there isn’t I’ll make time,” John answered, and, slipping his arm round her waist, led her up to their bedchamber.

  * * *

  It was all he could do to stay awake. The combination of a full stomach, a bottle of wine, a frantic day and energetic lovemaking, to say nothing of the sea air, was too heady a mix for John to cope with. Hoping that he wasn’t getting old before his time, the Apothecary was only too glad to return to his room as soon as the meal was done, and stretch out beside his wife. He was asleep within two minutes and knew nothing further until at some time in the small hours there came a thunderous knocking on his door. It so startled him that John was out of bed and on his feet before he even realised it. Practically sleepwalking he slid back the bolt and opened the door a crack, looking out blearily. In the gap he could see framed the honest countenance of William r

  Haycraft, the constable.

  “So sorry to disturb you at your rest, Sir, but I was wondering if you would be able to come with me down to the beach.”

  “Why, what’s happened?” asked John, trying to bring his thoughts into some semblance of order.

  “A man’s been found in the shallows, pretty far gone but still alive. I wondered if you might be prepared to tend him.”

  “Where does he come from, do you know?”

  “Certainly not an English ship, he’s speaking a foreign tongue.”

  “Give me a minute to get dressed and I’ll join you.”

  “What is it?” said Emilia.

  “A man’s been washed ashore in dire straits. The constable has asked me to help.”

  “Do you want me to come?”

  “No, darling, I don’t. It’s going to be unpleasant, I’m sure of it. Stay here and keep my place warm.”

  She was clearly in no mood to argue for she snuggled back down into the pillows. Pulling on travelling breeches and a shirt, John grabbed his medicine bag and followed the constable down the stairs, thinking his must be one of the most eventful honeymoons a man had ever experienced.

  The fishermen were on the beach and the

  Apothecary realised that it must be time for the fleet to set out. The man they had found, for presumably that was how he had been discovered, had been carried inshore and covered with a pile of old sails and nets to keep him warm. Further, some goodhearted soul had lit a fire out of driftwood to give the poor devil a chance to recover. He was terribly weak, though, thought John, feeling his feeble pulse and looking at all the outward signs of cold and exposure. In fact if it hadn’t been for the unseasonably warm weather the wretched fellow would probably be dead. Reaching in his bag he fetched out a decoction of agrimony made with wine, a general cure-all for internal wounds, bruises and hurts. This he followed with a dose of white poppy juice to ease the man into a peaceful sleep and relieve any pain he might be suffering. He turned to the constable.

  “We must get him inside if he is to have a chance of survival. Can The Anchor take him?”

  “They will if I order it. There is still some respect for the law round here.”

  “Can you fetch a table top or similar. We’ll need it to carry him on.”

  “I’ll find something and I’ll be as quick as I can.” And William set off at speed.

  Left alone, John stared at the man brought in from the sea, thinking that he was probably no more than forty years old and certainly not English. Dark hair and a swarthy skin, clearly visible in the moonlight, spoke of different origins.

  John had a brainwave. Very gently, close to the man’s ear, he said the word, Constantia? There was a reaction, for the eyelids flickered and then slowly opened. The Apothecary repeated himself and there was a barely perceptible nod of the head.

  So this was a member of the disappearing crew. “Do you speak English?” John asked slowly.

  “A little,” the man gasped, then came a drift towards sleep.

  “What happened? Tell me?” begged the Apothecary desperately.

  The man opened his eyes and gave him a look that John would never forget. “Angels come,” he said, and then quite quietly and with not another word, he died.

  6

  Despite the earlier fatigue he had suffered, the Apothecary realised there would be precious little sleep for him that night. Between them, he and William had carried the dead sailor back to The Ship where they had placed the body in an outbuilding and firmly locked the door. Then they had gone to sit on the settle by the fire which Matthew Salter, anxiously hovering and wanting to be part of all that was taking place, had thoughtfully stoked up.

  The Apothecary and the constable eyed each other over a glass of brandy.

  “What do you make of it all, Mr. Rawlings?”

  “I truly don’t know. But before we discuss it let me tell you everything that happened in Exeter today. To begin with, the dead girl’s brother has gone missing. Secondly, quite by chance, I located her father and his grief was terrible to see. Or so it appeared.”

  “Are you saying it was an act?”

  “I’m saying that it could have been.”

  “Go on. Tell me the rest.”

  John did so and the constable looked thoughtful. “Is the young man’s absence connected to all this?”

  “Yes, I think it is. I saw them both get the very early coach from Topsham on Monday morning. The girl was going to Exeter to tell her lover she was pregnant, that is according to her father who is guessing just as we are. Richard was obviously in league with his sister. I have ascertained that she had a large bag with her, just as if she were running away. Her brother must have realised what she was up to and been assisting her.”

  William took a mouthful of brandy that would have downed a lesser man.

  “More than that, he probably helped her plan it.”

  “Does this suggest to you that he knew who the lover was?”

  “Yes, Mr. Rawlings … “

  “John, please.”

  “Yes, John, it does. But the question remains, why did he vanish?”

  “Fearing his father’s wrath when the plot was discovered?”

  William nodded thoughtfully. “A very good point. And now he’s too frightened to emerge.”

  “You think he’s heard about his sister’s death?”

  “When I drove that cart into Exeter, even though I’d put a tarpaulin over the coffin,there were those who saw it arrive at the mortuary. And there were those who noticed me go to the coroner’s office to report the death. Believe me, the fact of poor Juliana’s demise would have been common knowledge throughout the city by nightfall.”

  “But not the gruesome details, surely?” William shook his head. “Not all, but I wouldn’t put it past a loose-mouthed mortuary attendant to describe the injuries of a Topsham merchant’s daughter to a crony in a hostelry. That would be enough to inform the world and his wife.”

  “And what about our present corpse? Will you take him to Exeter as well?”

  “There’s a mortuary in Topsham so that’s where he’ll go, then he can lie with the other seafarers.” William gave a humourless laugh. “His ship has gone back to harbour as well.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Constantia was towed to
Topsham yesterday. Apparently that’s where she and her cargo of hemp were originally bound.”

  “Will the cargo be unloaded?”

  “Most certainly. Whoever bought it will insist that it won’t go to waste.”

  “William,” said John urgently, “have you enough authority to stop that happening until the Flying Runners get here?”

  “I don’t know that I have. Why?”

  “I would like that ship searched by experts from prow to stern before a horde of people start clambering all over it.”

  Poor William, who was clearly wrestling with the most difficult challenge of his year in office, said, “I can only try, John. Maybe if we both had a word with the quay master it might do some good.”

  “Why should he listen to me?”

  “Because you have that way with you.”

  John smiled in the firelight but said nothing and there were a few minutes of companionable silence before the constable spoke again.

  “What do you think the dying man meant by his last words?”

  “Angels come? I have no idea.”

  “Do you think that he was so near death he had glimpsed the heavenly host?”

  John, who was something of a cynic, looked at William and saw that he was utterly sincere. “It’s possible, I suppose.”

  But though it could be argued the dying sailor was in a death dream, it seemed to the Apothecary that something entirely different might well lie behind those inexplicable words.At dawn he walked on the beach to clear his head. The tide was right out and a great swathe of sand glistened rose pink beneath the first shafts of sun. On either side reared the mighty cliffs, the red one an unbelievable shade in that pure clear light, the other stretching its long arm into the sea to hold and protect the bay of Sidmouth against all ills. Yet ill had come, John thought, brought in by that deserted ship whose crew, with the exception of one man, had vanished off the face of the earth, or should it be the sea? What had he meant by “Angels come”? John wondered for the hundredth time. Was it possible that the crew of the Constantia had suffered some kind of breakdown and believed they were seeing things that were not really there? Or was there a rational explanation to the whole enigma? Yet, crazed crew or no, there was one inescapable fact. The body of Juliana van Guylder had been placed aboard their ship, almost certainly by her killers, so what had taken place that could allow honest sailors to witness such a terrible event? Or had they already gone overboard, called into the deep by a chorus of angelic voices?