Death in the West Wind

by Deryn Lake

People were already wandering away, most too shocked to speak, but Fitz and a big brawny boy who resembled him slightly were already heading for his carriage.

  “Mr. Fitz, my dear Sir,” said John, hurrying towards him, “how very nice to see you. We met in Exeter t’other day if you remember, at the home of Sir Clovelly Lovell.”

  Gerald looked at him through his quizzer. “Oh yes,” he said disinterestedly.

  “The name’s Rawlings, John Rawlings.” He bowed to the brawny lad. “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”

  “Henry Fitz,” said the other, sighing with boredom.

  John continued unperturbed. Adopting a slightly stupid expression, he said, “I didn’t expect to see you here today, Sir. I was convinced you said to me that you didn’t know the van Guylders.”

  Fitz was smooth as satin, there could be no doubting that. “I meet so many people,” he said languidly. “If memory serves I said I recognised the name. Then I was reminded that I knew the young man. He was at school with someone or other and would come for cards or dice occasionally. But one gets confused with them all, don’t you agree?” John contrived to look enormously earnest.

  “That is just what I said to Coralie Clive on the last occasion I saw her. You’ve heard of her perhaps? She’s an actress.”

  Fitz came to life. “My dear fellow, I saved her from kidnap but recently. She was being attacked by those frightful louts who call themselves the Angels. I swear they would have carried her off had I not intervened.”

  So he hadn’t seen John there, that much was plain. “Oh thank you for that, Sir,” he answered, beaming inanely. “Any friend of Miss Clive’s is a friend of mine.”

  “You know her well?”

  “We are both members of the same gambling set,” John lied cosily. “We often play with the best gamester in town, the Masked Lady. But then I don’t suppose you would have heard of her here in Exeter.”

  “Au contraire”, said Gerald, steadfastly refusing to be impressed. “The name has been mentioned. Tell me, Sir, do you play deep?”

  “Very deep,” John answered, glinting his eye. “And I haven’t rolled a dice since I left town, more’s the pity.”

  Big Henry spoke. “What say we invite Mr. Rawlings to cards tomorrow? You said it’s time we had a game to cheer us after all this sadness.”

  Gerald smiled at his brother as if he were a slightly simple child. “Would you like that?”

  Henry looked enthusiastic. “Shall we send for the others as well?”

  “Why not? Time Mr. Rawlings met a few friends his own age. Shall we say seven o’clock? I live in The Close, near to Sir Clovelly. Ask anyone. No wives by the way. It’s an all male affair.”

  John swept a stunning bow. “My dear Sir, I shall be there. You can count on it.”

  “Well?” said Joe as the Apothecary returned to his side.

  “Triumph. He’s invited me to gamble tomorrow with the whole nest of vipers present.”

  “Excellent.”

  Emilia sighed. “And what shall I do while all this is going on?”

  “I wondered whether I might escort you to dine in Exeter, Madam?” Joe asked with deference.

  “It would be my pleasure,” answered Emilia, and gave John a rather cold look.

  * * *

  Whatever the circumstances, the death of the young before their time and, in this case, even before one of their parents, is such a terrible tragedy that none connected with it can leave the experience unscathed. So it seemed for all the people who had attended the double funeral that day; only the young men of Exeter getting into their carriages and driving off without a backward glance. Yet John thought he detected a certain sadness in the pointed face of Brenchley Hood, whose father employed black Daniel amongst his retinue of servants. Was it possible that through the servant Brenchley knew more about Juliana’s condition than the others? Or did some other reason give an extra pinch to that sharp, harshly defined chin?

  However, he had no time to ponder it. The flow of people had turned back towards Shell House and John and Emilia found themselves going along with it. But even as they moved, Joe Jago took his leave.

  “It is not seemly that I attend, Sir. Besides I have to write a full report for Mr. Fielding tonight which must catch the post first thing in the morning.” Joe dropped his voice. “Don’t forget that you ought to question that mysterious woman as soon as you can. We need to find out if she saw anything unusual while she was out and about.”

  “Right,” John whispered back, guiltily glad that Emilia had moved out of earshot.

  Shell House was sombre indeed, full of sad-faced people, the women weeping, the men taking strong liquor to help them recover from the ordeal. Jan was tightly under control once more, so much so that John could not help asking Dr. Shaw what he had prescribed.

  “A concoction of my own. Some Greek Valerian, one simply cannot better it for any form of the vapours, and a little opium.” He saw John’s look and hurried to explain, “Not enough to hurt him in any way, nor even to make him sleepy. The merest dash just to help him keep his emotions in check.”

  John decided to be very forthright. “Dr. Shaw, you remember how you told me of Juliana’s bad behaviour.”

  “One shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, of course, but yes, the girl was very wild and unruly.”

  “Is it possible that her father could have lost his temper with her? Could have struck her a violent blow and accidentally killed her?”

  “Never. He was too lenient with her if anything. The poor devil has had a terrible life in many ways, but nothing has affected him so deeply that he would turn into a murderer.”

  John nodded. “And Richard? Would he have been capable of killing his own sister?”

  Dr. Shaw looked thoughtful. “You are asking this because the poor child blew his brains out and left some sort of note?”

  “Yes. It said, “I cannot bear the burden of guilt any longer. Juliana forgive me.”

  “May I ask how you know all this? I thought you were here on your honeymoon, not investigating a tragedy.”

  “Sir, I told you the truth. I am on my honeymoon and I am also an apothecary with a shop in Piccadilly. What I did not tell you is that in the past I have worked with John Fielding, the blind magistrate, helping to solve various cases of murder and so, willy-nilly, I have got drawn into this one. I cannot go into all the details with you, it would not be ethical to do so, but let me say that though I personally suspect neither Jan nor Richard of killing Juliana, there are those that do.”

  Luke Shaw made no comment but asked another question. “And why do you not?”

  “Because the girl was raped before she died and I feel neither father nor son brutal enough for such a vile offence.”

  “Yet his suicide note was rather damning.”

  “But it could be referring to something else, some other terrible event that he had on his conscience.”

  “What though?”

  “That remains to be discovered. Perhaps he borrowed money off her and gambled it all away.”

  “He certainly moved with a crowd of choice spirits. I often felt the lad must be out of his depth.”

  “If he was, he has paid for it very dearly.”

  “Yes indeed.”

  Dr. Shaw frowned, clearly thinking things through. “You’re sure it was suicide, not murder?”

  “The position of the corpse seemed natural enough and the fingers gripping the pistol did not appear to have been arranged.”

  “So you examined poor Richard, God help you.”

  “Not only that. I actually found Juliana draped over the Constantia figurehead, beaten to death, the most terrible marks upon her body. And yesterday it was all brought back to me. My wife and I went to Sidmouth and while she amused herself on the beach collecting shells, I examined the shift that Juliana was wearing when she was killed.”

  “Why?”

  “Because a small piece of white material was found on the figurehead and I wa
nted to see if it had come from the victim’s own clothing.”

  “And had it?”

  “No, Sir, it had not. It was altogether denser.”

  Dr. Shaw looked intrigued. “How fascinating this study of murder must be. How you must enjoy following all the paths.”

  “Only if they lead to the right destination. Frankly, Sir, this one appears to be going straight into a maze.”

  “Well, I think you can safely rule out Juliana’s father and brother. Like you, I cannot believe they would rape their own flesh and blood.” He paused, then said, “It sounds more like the work of the Society of Angels to me.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “They’re not beyond a little rape. They stand women on their heads and indulge themselves.”

  “So I’ve heard. But why should the Angels pick on Juliana?”

  “She could merely have been walking the streets of Exeter for it to happen.”

  John was silent, then said, “I saw the Angels close to the other day.”

  And he explained how they had tried to snatch Coralie Clive from the theatre and might well have done so had it not been for the intervention of Gerald Fitz and his brilliant swordplay.

  “So they’re growing more daring. They used to save their activities for late at night.”

  “Perhaps the lure of Coralie drew them out.”

  “Who knows.” The doctor was silent fora while., finally saying, “I wonder if I’m right about the Angels.”

  “You may well be.”

  “But how in the Devil’s name will you ever find out?”

  “By asking someone whose sworn purpose it is to hunt the Society down,” John answered, and refused to be drawn any further.

  * * *

  He knew he had to see Elizabeth di Lorenzi because she might well hold the key to the whole mystery, but how and where were at the moment questions that he found himself unable to answer. The logical thing would be to visit her tomorrow when he would be in Exeter to play cards with Gerald Fitz and his friends. Yet John had a feeling that this might well turn into a very late session and to call on a lady at some ungodly hour of the night was hardly courteous to say the least. If he had had freedom of choice he would have gone to Wildtor Grange in the daylight and sought her in her hideaway, but to abandon poor Emilia by both day and evening would have been the height of callous behaviour. The compromise, of course, would be to take his wife with him — and yet the Apothecary hesitated. For some reason that he could not, or would not, put into words, he had no wish for the two women to meet.

  Throughout the rest of that dismal wake John had thought about all the doctor had to say and his ideas, coupled with his own belief that Jan and Richard would never have raped Juliana, nor allowed anyone else to do so, had made him positive that they could be crossed off Joe Jago’s list. But this still left Tobias Wills and Thomas Northmore to be dealt with, though personally John was equally convinced that Tobias’s protestations of innocence were genuine enough.

  Looking at the poor creature, now on the brandy and growing flushed, the Apothecary decided to have one more talk to him, and seeing Tobias head for the decanter, he swiftly joined him at the table.

  “This has been a terrible day for you,” he said by way of opening.

  Tobias sighed heavily. “I hope now that I can be free of her at last.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I told you that she was like an obsession with me, has been ever since I reached puberty. I can only pray for the salvation of my soul that she won’t continue to haunt me.”

  John was very blunt. “Just because Juliana is dead and buried, don’t make a saint of her, my friend.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Tve seen it time and again. Quite hateful people are sanctified by the very act of dying, particularly by a spouse who never really got on with them when they were alive.”

  “But I did get on with her.”

  “Did you? Did you really? She betrayed you in every way possible, she was even pregnant by another man. If I were you, Tobias, I would let today’s ceremony draw the final curtain. Only in this way will you be free to live the rest of your life in peace.”

  “You don’t think I killed her, do you?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “It was that bastard Northmore.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. Tell me, what do you know about the Society of Angels?”

  “They are a bunch of stupid young fools who terrorise the defenceless of Exeter. Why?”

  “Because someone mentioned them in connection with Juliana’s murder and the suggestion is not altogether a foolish one.”

  “But she didn’t know them.”

  “Do any of their victims?”

  Tobias took a moment both to drink and consider, then said, “That’s true enough. But how are you going to discover the facts?”

  “There’s a vigilante after them, someone who watches their moves and probably knows more about them than anyone else, including the constables. I’m going to ask that person.”

  “Who is it? Would I know him?”

  “I doubt it. But even if you did I have no intention of telling you. The vigilante’s identity is a secret.”

  “It all sounds very mysterious.”

  “It is.”

  Emilia came over and John stopped speaking, rather abruptly. She smiled up at him.

  “My dear, I would like to go back to the inn and dine. I can think of nothing nicer than to spend an evening quietly in your company after a day such as this.”

  Tobias bowed and moved away, and John flattered himself that there was a more determined air about the poor fellow than there had been of late.

  The Apothecary kissed his wife’s hand. “Shall we go early to bed?”

  She smiled her angelic smile. “What a delightful prospect.”

  “And what would you like to do tomorrow?” The smile became just the slightest bit wistful. “No doubt, there will be some call on your time so it is pointless to make plans.” He looked at her very seriously. “Do you hate this honeymoon?”

  “No, of course not. Yet I can’t say that I’ll be sorry to get back to London and start married life without all this excitement.”

  “Do you long for dull domesticity?”

  “I can’t say that a great deal of dullness would be unwelcome.”

  “I promise you that we shall have the dullest life a couple could wish for.”

  “Oh good,” said Emilia, not believing a word her new husband was saying.

  * * *

  The minute that the note was handed to him, John knew that it was going to ask him to do something, and so determined was he to give Emilia an enjoyable evening — and night — that he hid it in his coat pocket, resolving to open it in the morning and not before. As a result, they had a very good time, drinking too much wine and laughing at one another’s jokes, and going to bed and making love by candlelight. Therefore it wasn’t until he was halfway through his particularly hearty breakfast — John made it a golden rule always to eat well after a funeral — that he remembered the note and pulled it from his pocket. It was in a laboured, rather poor hand that he did not recognise, but when he opened it he realised why. It had been written by the farmer William Haycraft, presently acting as constable of Sidmouth. The Apothecary scanned the contents.

  * * *

  “Sir”, he read.

  “With Respect I write You to Ask your Help. A Odd Occur Rance has happened. I Think there might Be a SirVivor from the Constantia. Gossip Has It that Widow Sarah Mullins has Rescued a Man from The Sea and Has taken him to Live with Her. He Speaks No English and Was found at the Time of the Sailor Who Died. Can You come and Sift Her as She Refuses to Answer to Me.

  Ever Your Obedient and Humble Servant,

  W. Haycraft.”

  * * *

  “Zounds,” John exclaimed loudly. “This could be the key to the whole thing.”

  “What?” Emilia asked, lo
oking over the rim of her cup.

  “It seems that there might be a survivor from the Constantia. A man has been found alive.”

  She put the cup down. “My darling, if this means another visit to Sidmouth, please excuse me. I have collected shells, I have walked on the beach, I have swum in the sea. Unless I am spending all my time with you there is little fun left in the place for me. So, if it is agreeable, I would prefer to take the carriage and go into Exeter with Tom to escort me. Lady Lovell has issued an invitation for me to call at any time and I really would prefer to do that.”

  He took her hand across the table. “I feel that I have been a great disappointment to you.”

  She withdrew her fingers. “I admit that I thought we would spend the days together on our honeymoon but that is clearly not to be. However, I am having a good time in a very different way to the one I imagined, so please don’t worry.”

  “But I do worry.”

  “Then drop the investigation. Joe Jago and the two Brave Fellows are more than capable of seeing it through, I feel certain of that.”

  “You’re right of course. My duty is to you, not John Fielding.”

  Emilia laughed, just a little wryly. “But how could I be the one to drag you away from your beloved hobby? Whatever you say, resentment would creep in, I know that perfectly well. John, if I succeeded in making you devote all your time to me, it would bea pyrrhic victory indeed.”

  “But, sweetheart … “

  “There’s no but about it. I am telling the truth. You are only upset because I would prefer to go off on my own rather than spend the day with you.”

  “But you did that so recently.”

  “Without telling you, yes I know, and I have apologised. But now I am stating the facts to your face. I want to go to Exeter and you want to go to Sidmouth and meet the sailor who survived. So let’s forget that we are meant to be on honeymoon and do what we both wish.”