by Deryn Lake
She spoke the words lightly but the Apothecary felt that they contained a slight criticism, as if he should have been present in court as well.
‘I act as an occasional investigator for him,’ he said, and the explanation sounded lame.
‘Really?’ she said again. ‘How interesting.’
Now there could be no doubt. Her voice was decidedly sarcastic.
John leaned forward on the table that separated them. ‘So, Miss Gower, there is absolutely no need for you to listen to or answer one word I say. I would like to make that quite clear.’
‘In that case,’ she said, standing up, ‘I’ll save you the trouble of proceeding.’ And she swept from the snug in which they had been sitting.
John stared after her, feeling annoyed. The interview had been highly unsuccessful and he had been quite definitely challenged over his role in the affair. All he had learned from it was that Paulina had some acquaintance with the Fielding family and that she had — according to her at least — no knowledge of William Gorringe. But was that true he asked himself. Or was the talented actress merely putting on a performance for his benefit?
Half an hour later found him in the apothecary’s shop discussing the merits of an infusion of raspberry leaves in both pregnancy and childbirth.
‘It is excellent, Sir. My wife drank it constantly throughout her eight confinements.’
‘Good heavens, did she really,’ said John, trying valiantly not to laugh. ‘Actually I do know about it. I am an apothecary myself.’ And he handed the man a card.
‘Oh, you’re from London town, Sir. You must see some strange people in that place.’
‘Yes, quite a few. But I imagine that you do too. After all, ailments are ailments wherever one comes from.’
‘That’s true enough. But I have always thought that London must be a sink of iniquity.’
John smiled. ‘Perhaps it is. Anyway, I’ll take two bottles of the infusion, if you please.’
‘Certainly, Sir. And I hope that your wife will have an easy labour. Is this her first child?’
‘No, her second,’ John answered, and wondered at himself for adopting the role of Elizabeth’s husband with quite so much ease.
Stepping out into the street he paused for a moment to stare into the window of the apothecary’s shop, fascinated, as always, by the great glass bottles full of bright blue liquid. And he was standing thus, thinking of nothing in particular, when from across the street he heard a horribly familiar voice.
‘Vere is mein canary bird?’ it was shouting ridiculously. ‘Oh, mein Gott. I must have left him in ze market.’
And a moment later, allowing John just the merest glimpse of her, Fraulein Schmitt hurled herself into a hackney coach and vanished from view. Disconsolately, John walked along High Street, thinking that the wretched woman must live in Exeter or its environs. Then, without really looking where he was going, the Apothecary suddenly found himself outside The Half Moon. And there in the courtyard, almost ready to depart, was the London coach, polished up and with fresh horses in the traces but the same driver and guard standing beside it. Immediately John went in to greet them.
‘Good morning to you.’
‘Good day, Sir. And how are you?’ answered the driver.
‘Very well, thank you. Not quite ready to leave for London, however.’
‘Enjoying life in Devon then?’
‘Indeed I am.’ John produced a guinea from his pocket. ‘May I speak to you in confidence?’
‘You certainly can, Sir,’ said the guard, and seeing the flash of coin, came closer as he echoed, ‘Certainly.’
‘It’s about the murder the other night. Tell me, did you know the murdered man at all?’
‘Mr Gorringe? Well, strangely enough I had seen him a few times before,’ the coachman replied.
‘Oh? When and where was that?’
‘It was on another run that I do from time to time, London to Shoreham via Lewes and Brighthelmstone. He used to come on that quite regular.’
‘You’re sure it was him?’
‘Positive, Sir. He had a very arresting face, if you know what I mean. A cruel face really. I’m not surprised somebody had it in for him.’
‘Can you remember where he got off on this other run?’
‘Lewes, Sir. And he always had a coach waiting to pick him up.’
‘Strange he didn’t travel in that.’
‘Well, he didn’t. And there’s another funny thing as well.’
‘What was that?’
‘He used to call himself something different. I know because I heard his coachman use the name.’
‘And what was it?’
‘That’s the devil of it, I can’t remember.’ The coachman turned to the guard. ‘Can you?’
‘Sorry to say I never even heard it, Sir.’
John handed over the coin. ‘Thank you for the information. It was very interesting.’ He turned to the driver one more time. ‘You are certain it was him?’
‘Either that or his twin brother, Sir.’
‘I see.’
John nodded and went on his way, very puzzled indeed by what he had just heard. It would seem that Gorringe — or whatever he had called himself in the past — had been a man of some means and had either lived near Lewes or had visited somebody regularly in that particular vicinity. At this moment, disgruntled as he was, John would have put his money on Paulina Gower as the murderess, assisted by the German woman. But that was only his present mood. He was actually, to quote the guard, totally bewildered by the whole affair.
Stepping into The White Swan he sat turning his wine glass in his hand, staring fixedly into its depths as though it could tell him the answers. And so he was sitting, not really seeing anyone as he tried to make some sort of sense of what he had just heard, when he felt a movement at his side. Looking up, John saw that Martin Meadows was standing by his table, looking earnest. He half rose.
‘Mr Meadows. I’m so sorry. I was deep in thought.’
‘That’s perfectly all right. May I join you? There is something I would like to discuss.’
‘Please do. Would you like to share my bottle? I have to ride back and I must keep my wits about me so I can’t possibly drink it all.’
‘That would be very kind. But I, too, am returning to work and therefore one glass will suffice.’
Having procured another vessel from the serving maid, John turned his attention to the solicitor who today was looking far less startled, his eyebrows seeming fuller and his wig — very new and curly but once again brown — sitting sedately upon his head.
‘What is it you wish to discuss with me?’ the Apothecary asked.
‘I have been thinking over the coach journey down — in fact I can think of little else — and I keep remembering how worried Gorringe was. At the time, as you know, I put it down to mental disorder, but now I realize that the man was telling the truth.’
‘What was it he said exactly?’
‘That the Black Pyramid reminded him of a slave he had once had, though he could not be certain as so many years had passed. The other person he kept talking about was none other than our little dancing master friend, Cuthbert Simms.’
‘Good gracious,’ said John, totally startled. ‘Of all the mild-mannered men.’
‘That is precisely what I said at the time. But Gorringe insisted that he had employed the fellow as dancing master to his children and that his appearance on the coach was decidedly sinister.’
The Apothecary downed his wine and said, ‘But why? I frequently meet people I know and nothing could be further from my thoughts than a threat to my safety.’
Martin sighed. ‘That is what I told him. But as things have turned out it seems that he was right all along. I can tell you now that I went to that fight yesterday to get a closer look at the black man.’
‘And what did you think of him?’
‘A magnificent specimen. But as to his character, who knows?’
John looked thoughtful. ‘I heard something interesting today.’ And he launched forth with the tale told him by the coachman.
Martin Meadows behaved in a particularly professional manner, folding his hands and listening intently. Then, when John finally grew silent, he spoke.
‘So if the coachman is to be believed it would seem that Gorringe had another life and another name. How very odd. I wonder what it was.’
‘That’s what I would like to know.’
‘It certainly gives one food for thought.’
‘Indeed it does.’
Shortly afterwards the two men parted company. John going to fetch his horse, which was tethered nearby, Meadows returning to his office. As he rode back to join Elizabeth for dinner the apothecary found his head full of the case and he wished that he had the Blind Beak to consult and, even more useful, the incredible Joe Jago to help him sift the matter through.
After they had dined and were sitting in the Blue Drawing Room Elizabeth turned to him with a beautiful smile.
‘Sweetheart, it is Lady Sidmouth’s ball next week and knowing what cutting fashions you besport I wondered whether you would like to order a new set of night clothes from the tailor in Exeter.’
The Apothecary collected himself and looked at her, nodding.
‘You have a definite point. The suits I brought do look rather tired. How quick is the fellow?’
‘I believe he takes a few days only.’
John got up and took a seat beside her, putting his arm round her gently expanding waist. ‘Tell me truly, do I appear like last year’s model?’
She took his face between her two hands. ‘My darling, you positively sparkle and I would be proud to be seen anywhere with you. It’s just that I know you well and wondered if you would prefer something new in which to display yourself to the entire county.’
He kissed her fingers. ‘You have read my character utterly. I shall visit the tailor tomorrow.’
‘Good. Now tell me, how are you getting on with your investigation?’
‘Not well.’ And John proceeded to inform her of the latest twists and turns.
When he had finished she said, ‘You are sure that he was murdered by someone on the coach? It could not have been done by someone he met by arrangement in Exeter?’
‘That’s the devil of it. I can’t be sure of anything. The case is as nebulous as a waterfall.’
‘The Constable sounds good.’
‘He is a very useful man. Sir John could do with him as a Runner.’
‘Can’t you make an appointment to see him when you are in Exeter tomorrow?’
‘Now that is a very sound idea. I shall go to his house and do so.’
‘Clever Mr Rawlings,’ said Elizabeth, and patted his hand.
It seemed a pity, thought John, to be in Exeter and not call on Sir Clovelly Lovell. So on arriving in the city for the third day running, he made his way to The Close determined to waylay the little fat man in his den. But to his disappointment he was informed that Sir Clovelly was out. Turning away determinedly John headed for High Street and for the home of Toby Miller, that most efficient officer of the law. Surprisingly enough the man was at home and John found himself ushered into a very small study where Toby sat behind a mound of papers. On the end of his nose a pair of spectacles without sides was perched, relying entirely on their grip on the human proboscis to stay upright. He took them off with a slight sigh of relief as John came into the room.
‘Greetings, Mr Rawlings,’ he said, rising from his chair. ‘How may I help you?’
‘I just wondered how you were getting on with the case.’
‘I take it you mean the enquiry into the death of William Gorringe?’
‘Yes I do. I hope that perhaps you wouldn’t mind sharing information with me — as I am Attached to the office of Sir John Fielding. Quite unofficially, of course.’
‘There is little to report, Sir. Mr Martin Meadows came to see me and told me that the dead man had also mentioned one Cuthbert Simms as someone who was familiar to him. But I have yet to see that gentleman. He is giving dancing lessons at Lady Sidmouth’s, I believe.’
‘Yes, but not for much longer. Her ball is next week and then his employment will be over.’
‘I’ll be sure to catch him before he leaves.’
John put his elbows on the table that separated the two men and said in a low voice, though there was nobody else to overhear a word, ‘But I have something which might be important to tell you.’ And he proceeded to recount the conversation he had had with the driver and the guard of the London coach.
Tobias listened in silence then replaced his spectacles on his nose. ‘How very interesting, Sir. Indeed what an extraordinary tale. I feel that one of us should follow it up.’
And he looked at John Rawlings in a very pointed manner indeed.
The Apothecary spent the next hour at the shop of the tailor that Elizabeth had recommended, glorying in the latest fabrics from France and falling in love with one, of the finest satin, in a vivid shade of crimson, decorated all over with a million little silver butterflies. Having been measured and explained that he needed the suit within a week, John retired to The Green Dragon and found Sir Clovelly Lovell, sitting in a corner imbibing a bottle of claret and partaking of a small snack to keep him going.
‘Sir Clovelly!’ exclaimed John and seeing the little man’s jolly eyes light up went to sit opposite him.
‘Damn trouble is,’ stated Sir Clovelly without further ado, ‘that I couldn’t stand my wife when she was alive but I miss her nagging now that she has gone. The house is so dashed quiet, don’t you know.’
‘Perhaps you need to remarry, Sir,’ said John, jesting. But Sir Clovelly took him seriously.
‘I don’t think so, dear boy. I mean who would have me for a start? And then if I found some eager young virgin I don’t think I would have the energy to cope. As for a widow woman I reckon she’d have a thousand screaming children and I would be driven to distraction. No, I think I’ll stay as I am and bore all my friends with my troubles.’
‘You could never do that, Sir,’ John answered gallantly. And leaning across the table he gave his fat friend a hug of pure affection.
Nine
The following morning was a truly golden one. The late September sunshine awakened the Apothecary and as he got out of bed Elizabeth woke as well and they fell to kissing and laughing before he went to his own room to dress. He was longing to get out of doors, to get the last burst of summer into his lungs before the grip of autumn took hold. So — Elizabeth taking her time about getting herself prepared — he strolled outside as soon as he had consumed his usual breakfast.
It was a glorious day. As far as the eye could see everything was sparkling and fresh, washed by a shower which had occurred during the night. The colours of the season were everywhere; trees lifted their heads proudly, displaying shimmerings of gold and flame and occasionally dropping a leaf which crunched beneath the feet of horses and passers-by. The pastures were green, cattle and sheep grazed placidly; the sky above was a deep blue, the colour of sloes. The Exe reflected its light and wound through the valley like a swathe of flax flowers. A wildness ran through John, a sensation that he had experienced from time to time over the years. He knew that the changing seasons were being echoed by something within himself, something that spoke of eternal youth and immortality. Yet that was only a part of it, the rest of the emotion was inexplicable.
Without him hearing Elizabeth came out onto the terrace and spoke his name. He turned and looked at her as if he were observing her for the first time. In that bright autumn light in which you could see a bird fly at a great distance, he realized that she had changed. There were silver hairs amongst the raven black and the great dark eyes had more tiny lines around them. The disfiguring scar which was so ugly yet at the same time made her brilliantly attractive, stood out in the pitiless light. But she stood tall and straight, the four month rounding just beginning to make itsel
f known beneath the folds of her dress. And then she put her hand to her abdomen and drew a breath.
‘It’s moving, John. The child has quickened.’
He ran to her side and placed his hand beside hers, but she laughed and shook her head.
‘A butterfly opened its wings, that is all. You will not be able to feel it yet.’
He laughed, realizing as he did so that he sounded like a youth, not a mature man. ‘I think this is one of the most exciting moments of my life.’
‘But you have experienced it before. With Emilia.’
At the mention of the past the Apothecary felt some of his earlier mood dissipate. He looked at Elizabeth solemnly
‘Yes, indeed I have. But you and Emilia are very different people. I feel that I have been fortunate, and honoured too, to have had the pleasure of loving you both.’
She must have sensed the sudden seriousness in him for she put out her hand and took his. ‘Just as I am honoured to be carrying your child. Come on, sweetheart. Let us enjoy the beauty of the day. Shall we go for a carriage ride?’
‘I would like to travel beside you on horseback if that is all right.’
‘I am very pleased to hear it. We shall make a horseman of you yet.’
Half an hour later they were setting off, heading towards the coast and the high cliffs. As they neared their objective John could see the town of Exmouth below and the meeting of the mighty Exe with its mother ocean. He turned his head to the right and there, dark and stark in the autumn sunshine stood the ruin of Wildtor Grange, the house in which he had first set eyes on Elizabeth. He tapped on the carriage side with his riding crop and the Marchesa stuck her head out.
‘There’s the Grange.’
‘I know. Do you want to go and look?’
‘Yes, I think so,’ John answered.
But inside he felt somewhat apprehensive. It was true that he had first seen Elizabeth within those decaying walls, but at that time he had been on honeymoon with Emilia. So the mansion contained memories of both women and he was not sure that he wanted to revive such thoughts.
