Death in the West Wind

by Deryn Lake

  “And what can she be doing living in a place like this?” John shook his head. “I get the feeling that this is a bolt-hole, somewhere she comes when she needs to escape.”

  “Escape what? The law?”

  “Sweetheart, all the time we stand here in discussion we are in risk of discovery. Let us get out as quickly as we can and ask Tom what he saw. He’s been waiting round the coach all this time. Perhaps he saw her ride past. At least he might be able to tell us in which direction she was heading.”

  “Was she beautiful?” asked Emilia as they hurried down the overpowering staircase.

  “In a strange sort of way.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, her bone structure was fine and her hair and eyes both lustrous and dark, but the poor soul was scarred.”

  “On the face?”

  “Yes. A gash ran from eye to cheek, a deep cut that looked as it had been done with a sword.”

  “This,” said Emilia, suddenly shivering, “is an evil house and brings no luck with it. I worry for her, whoever she might be, that she chooses to dwell here, even if it is only as a place of refuge.”

  Unsuperstitious as John was, he was relieved to step through the window embrasure and feel the fresh Devon air blowing in his face. His bride was already hurrying towards the coach without a backward glance, but he, just for a moment, stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder. Was there really a pale face looking out at him from behind a barred glassless window in the East wing? Or was it just a trick of the light? Whatever the answer, John was glad to clamber into the snug confines of the carriage and shout to Tom to drive to Topsham as fast as he could go-John and Emilia found themselves approaching Topsham from an entirely different direction. Hugging the banks of the River Clyst, they passed a mill, then crossed a bridge leading to an inviting hostelry. A foaming weir lay on one side, meadowland on the other, between the two, the Bridge Inn. The Apothecary, longing for something to calm his nerves after his strange ordeal in the clothes cupboard, cast longing eyes in its direction but this time Emilia had the last word.

  “I am not going to appear in public in this state of disarray, John. I would like to go straight back to The Salutation and wash and change for dinner. The odour of that terrible house is still upon me.”

  And the Apothecary had to admit that in truth both of them smelled decidedly musty and reluctantly nodded his head. “I must visit the place another time, though. It is situated in such a pleasant location.”

  “Yes, another time,” Emilia answered firmly, and there the matter was put to rest.

  Tom turned the horses down a rough track where they picked their delicate way to Fore Street. The river came into sight, gleaming in the early afternoon sunshine, the masts of the ships thick as a forest. And there, neatly placed on a corner and looking most welcoming was The Salutation. Emilia, clearly very conscious of her dishevelled appearance, rushed upstairs to their room, giving orders as she went for some hot water to be brought, but the Apothecary went straight to the parlour reserved for guests, where he flung himself into a chair and ordered a large brandy.

  A figure rose from a settle at the far end. “Well, Sir, you look as if you’ve been having a few adventures,” said a familiar voice.

  John gaped, then sprang to his feet, throwing his arms round the newcomer, so very pleased was he to see him. “Joe,” he shouted, kissing him on the rugged cheek. “Why, if it isn’t Joe Jago.”

  Mr. John Fielding’s clerk and right-hand man, affectionately dubbed the blind Magistrate’s eyes, returned the embrace. “Well, Sir, this is a fine how dee do, ain’t it? Here you are enjoying your honeymoon, as every man has a right to do, and bless me if you don’t stumble across a body. Mr. Fielding had to chuckle … “

  John could almost hear the melodious rumble and smiled.

  “ … but for all that he says to me, “I believe our friend is in trouble”. So here I am, Sir. Setting forth from London into the mysterious West country.”

  “Are the Runners with you?”

  “They are, Sir, and keen as greyhounds. They’re in the kitchen at this very moment taking ale with the locals.”

  John grinned and gave a great sigh of relief. “I’m so glad you’re here, my friend. This is truly one of the weirdest situations I have ever found myself involved in.”

  “If you’ll take a bottle of wine with me, Sir, I suggest we sit over there in that quiet corner and you tell me the story right from the start. Then I can make a list if I have to.”

  Famed amongst his associates for his lists, John could see that Joe had pen, ink pot and paper already standing on a nearby table.

  “But I’m forgetting my manners,” said the clerk as they sat down. “How is Mrs. Rawlings?”

  Just for a second the Apothecary wondered who he meant, then he said, “Emilia is very well, thank you, but at the moment quite taken up with making a toilette. I should say that we have a good hour in which we can talk before she puts in an appearance.”

  “I’ll make myself scarce then, Sir.”

  “Oh no you won’t. She would be mortified. You must join us for dinner.”

  Telling the story right from the start helped to clarify certain things that John had been aware of but had not yet put into any orderly sequence in his mind. As he spoke he was much amused to see Joe draw paper and pen towards him and start to write. Eventually, when there was silence, Mr. Fielding’s clerk looked up.

  “Well, it seems to me, Sir, that the most important thing, the item that I have put at number one, is to find young Richard. He probably holds the key to the whole affair. For once he has given us the name of his sister’s cicisbeo … “

  Inwardly, the Apothecary cracked with laughter at Joe’s pronunciation of the word, though to his credit, his face did not alter.

  “ … then we have the key to her personal life and, most probably, her murderer.”

  “Or murderers. I told you my opinion after examining the body.”

  “Yes, and very nasty too. We are obviously dealing with depraved minds here.”

  “Which brings me back to something I would rather not dwell on — but must. Was the girl’s father capable of such a crime?”

  “If his pleasant facade hides a cruel and restrictive parent, then yes.”

  “And her betrothed, Tobias Wills?”

  “A similar reply, Mr. Rawlings. Though I really should reserve judgement until I meet these people.”

  John stretched his legs in front of him and drank his claret, feeling the soothing benefits of both the wine and Joe’s calming presence. “So where do we start?”

  “At the quay side. We must make sure that the Constantia remains untouched until she has been thoroughly searched.”

  “I suppose you’re armed with letters of authorisation?”

  “Yes, for what good they’ll do in this Godforsaken part of the country.”

  “Oh, come now. Exeter considers itself very civilised.”

  “But Topsham ain’t Exeter,” Joe replied meaningfully, and winked an eye.

  However, his opinion seemed slightly tempered by the excellence of the repast that was set before them when an hour later he, John and Emilia sat down to dine. Looking at the craggy face and the foxy hair that he had grown to love and respect over the years, the Apothecary wondered yet again about the clerk’s private life. Other than that there was no Mrs. Jago and that Joe lived in the Seven Dials area of London, he knew nothing further about him. And, considering it, John felt that perhaps he didn’t want to. Joe was a character in his own right; utterly reliable, utterly kind and utterly discreet. Let him remain a man of mystery until the day came when he wanted to reveal himself. And if he didn’t, then that was a matter for him alone.

  “Did you say you were going out?” Emilia asked as they neared the end of the meal.

  “Yes, we must see the quay master before sunset. Before we left Sidmouth I told the constable that I would meet him at the man’s house at six o
’clock.”

  “Then may I come with you? I should like to see the ships.”

  Joe raised her hand to his lips, an endearing gesture from such a rugged individual. “Mrs. Rawlings, you are on your honeymoon. If it is your wish that I continue these investigations on my own, then you only have to say.”

  She smiled, just a fraction sadly John thought. “Mr. Jago, I think perhaps that if I did that my marriage would last no longer than the honeymoon itself.”

  There was a profound silence, broken by the Apothecary, who said, “I feel so guilty. Why should I inflict all this on you?”

  “I married you knowing about it, John. I was aware that you worked with Mr. Fielding.” She gave that same wistful smile. “I just didn’t think a murder would follow you on honeymoon, that’s all.”

  “Despite your presentiment?”

  “I put that down to my own silly superstition.”

  “Well,” said Joe, rubbing his hands together, “do we proceed?”

  “Of course you do,” said Emilia, and John, leaning across the table in a most ungentle- manly fashion, gave her a smacking kiss upon the lips, which gave rise to a ripple of laughter amongst the other diners.

  * * *

  An April evening by the river and a chilly little wind making wavelets upon the broad back of the Exe, the great waterway reflecting slashes of light from the dying sun, which was sinking amidst a particularly savage sunset. Riding somewhat apart from the other vessels, the Constantia looked desolate and alone, its figurehead of a mermaid with long tresses of golden hair too reminiscent of the grisly find that had been placed upon it in what John could only think of as a savage joke.

  As was to be expected at this hour of the evening, the quay master was not on duty but at home. Pointed out to them as a house built close to the quay itself, John and Joe Jago, accompanied by Emilia, wrapped warmly against the cold, made their way there. William Haycraft, looking amazingly clean and dressed in a coat of good grey worsted. his best, was already ahead of them and trying his very best to explain to an important individual named Thomas Northmore that the Constantia must be thoroughly searched before her cargo of hemp could be unloaded. At the moment of their arrival it seemed that he was not doing terribly well and he cast a look of enormous gratitude in John’s direction as the visiting party was shown into Mr. Northmore’s parlour. His eyes widened as he saw Joe Jago and realised that the contingent from London had arrived at last.

  The quay master, so John thought, epitomised his title, for it was very clear from his attitude that he believed himself governor indeed, not only in his own house but of all those who had anything to do with Topsham quay. He also considered himself a ladies man judging from the leering smile that he gave Emilia, a smile which revealed the most alarming set of false teeth, apparently carved out of whalebone by a whittling sailor from a whaling ship. He was reasonably tall which helped him carry his rather odd figure, somewhat skinny but with a large stomach that sat pudding-like above the fastening of his breeches. This night the quay master had removed his wig and wore an odd arrangement upon his head, not quite turban, not quite hat. However, he obviously considered this the height of fashion and that being thus attired gave him the edge over the people who had come to ask him a favour.

  His pale blue eyes, hard as pebbles, gazed from the bags beneath them “And you are?” he said to John, his whalebone dentures clicking very slightly.

  “John Rawlings, Apothecary of London. And this is my wife Emilia … “

  She curtseyed and Northmore murmured, “Charming”, and kissed her hand.

  “And this is Joe Jago, assistant to Mr. John Fielding, the Principal Magistrate of the capital.”

  “So what is your business with me, gentlemen?”

  William Haycraft spoke up. “I have just been asking Mr. Northmore if the unloading of Constantia, scheduled to begin tomorrow morning, could be delayed by another twenty-four hours.”

  “And I have just been answering no,” the quay master said down the length of his nose. “The purchasers of the cargo are keen to get the hemp into their warehouse, feeling that they have been kept waiting long enough. And I agree with them.”

  John was just about to look at Joe Jago to see which one of them should answer first when a woman suddenly scuttled into the room. She had once been a beauty, of that there was no doubt, but now the passing years and her extreme thinness had made her look sunken and sad. She gazed at Northmore nervously.

  He glared at her in what could only be described as a masterful manner. “Wife, go to. We talk men’s matters here. This is no place for you.”

  She stared about at the assembled visitors, her once pretty face pinched. “Yes, Thomas,” she said, made an anxious salutation, then fled. John felt like rushing after her and offering her some restorative cordial — or some poison with which to do away with her insufferable husband.

  The quay master gave a merry laugh. “Audrey does not understand matters of business, alas. But she runs a tidy house. Yes indeed.”

  Emilia spoke up. “That must be nice for you,” she said innocently, and gave a guileless smile.

  Northmore, who was clearly thick-skinned as well as everything else, flashed his dentures at her. “Now, gentlemen, state your business clearly,” he said, watching Emilia to see if she was impressed.

  Joe Jago, who had been maintaining a heroic silence, broke it. “Sir, I am here on behalf of the Principal Magistrate, John Fielding. Although I am more than aware that his jurisdiction does not extend to this part of the country, I am accompanied on this journey by two of the court Runners, whose duty it is to go to any part of the kingdom in order to apprehend villains. Therefore, an act which could be interpreted as impeding the course of justice would be within their sphere of authority and they are empowered to arrest. As the constable has probably told you, a murder took place on the ship Constantia. I am thus asking you officially to impound that vessel until it has been searched by experts, a duty which is scheduled to take place tomorrow.”

  The quay master attempted to look as if he were considering, narrowing his gaze and pursing his lips, but he was outmanoeuvered and he knew it. However, he wasn’t going down without a fight.

  “May I see your letter of authorisation,” he said nastily. “After all, anyone could walk in here and say they were representing John Fielding.”

  “Indeed they could,” Joe answered, giving him a fox-like smile. He reached into an inner pocket. “Here we are, Sir. Signed by the Magistrate himself.”

  Northmore scanned the paper. “It seems to be in order,” he admitted grudgingly. “I take it you are the Joe Jago that Fielding mentions.”

  “I am indeed, Sir. Now, what time do you want me and my fellows at the quayside tomorrow?”

  “At dawn,” answered Northmore, giving a sly grin, clearly thinking that these upstarts from town would shudder at the very thought.

  “We’ll be there,” said Joe. “Now, Sir, let me thank you for your cooperation. If you have any further questions for me I am staying at The Salutation and will be only too happy to discuss them with you.”

  It had been neatly done and there was no point in lingering further. As one, the company rose and made polite salutations before stepping out into the hallway. There, hovering and pale, stood the skinny wife, wringing her hands and looking generally terrified.

  “Is it true that it is Juliana van Guylder who is dead?” she whispered

  “I’m afraid so,” John answered sympathetically.

  “Oh how terrible. I knew her when she was a little girl. I was quite friendly with the family, you know.”

  “Now, now, my dear,” said her husband from the parlour doorway. “This is not a subject fit for womenfolk. Surely you have some delicious meal with which to tempt my jaded appetite. Perhaps you should be seeing to it.”

  Poor Audrey curtsied. “Yes, Husband.”

  Emilia pitched in once more. “Would you care for me to call on you, Mrs. Northmore? I am a stranger
in Topsham and would much appreciate a little company.”

  The wretched woman looked at the quay master. “Would that be in order, my dear?” With the eyes of the other three men upon him, Thomas Northmore had no alternative but to say yes.

  * * *

  “If ever,” said Emilia, standing outside in the fitful light of the rising moon, “you become like that, John, I shall run away to my mother.”

  “And I would help you,” he answered. “What an obnoxious fellow.”

  “He believes himself authoritative,” said William Haycraft. “In fact he’s known for it for miles about.”

  “He has very strange teeth,” added Joe Jago, and everybody laughed.

  It was not late, the interview having been such a short one, and there was yet much to accomplish. It was decided, therefore, that William would head for Exeter and see the coroner at his private quarters, leaving the others free to visit first, Jan van Guylder and then, time permitting, Tobias Wills.

  “I think, Mr. Rawlings, it might be better if you undertook those tasks alone,” Joe said thoughtfully as the constable departed. “My presence might well put the gentlemen concerned off, as people are always inhibited by strangers. While Mrs. Rawlings, saving your delightful presence, Ma’am, could make them omit something that they would readily say to a fellow. So, if you are both agreeable, I will accompany the lady back to the inn.” John took Emilia’s hand. “Do you mind?” She shook her head. “Not in the least. The adventure in the clothes cupboard has quite worn me out. I shall be pleased to retire early.”

  “But not,” Joe said gallantly, “before you have done me the honour of sharing a few minutes of your time with me, I hope.”

  She smiled up at him, looking as angelic as when John had first seen her. “It will be my pleasure,” she answered, and the Apothecary saw the clerk’s ragged features spread into a delighted smile.

  * * *

  A gloomy transformation had occurred. Shell House, usually so light and airy and charming, had become a house of mourning. Black cloth had been wrapped round the knocker and there was black hanging where the curtains usually were. Putting on a suitably sombre expression, John rang the bell and was ushered into the hall by a long-faced servant.