by Deryn Lake
‘I didn’t realize that you were that attached to the Earl of St Austell,’ the Apothecary said wryly.
‘He can be damned. It is the innocent victims I am concerned about.’
She was itching to be on the move, to do her part in bringing the criminals to justice. She slapped John’s hat on his head and headed for the staircase without another word. He followed behind her, carrying the box with the hair in it, and, telling himself not to be afraid, began to descend that nightmarish staircase. And then his eye was caught by something. Something dropped on one of the stairs. It was a man’s handkerchief and on it were smears of carmine and white as if someone had wiped it over their face to remove their make-up. It could as easily have belonged to a belle or beau of fashion, yet John’s instinct told him it was a man’s. He snatched it up and put it in his pocket for more careful examination later on.
They reached Exeter about forty minutes later, having gone like the wind. John, terrified by the ordeal of riding fast, had clung on for dear life, losing his hat and his stirrup at one point. The hat he gave up as a bad job, the stirrup he eventually regained. Panting, mud streaked and definitely pale, he arrived at Tobias Miller’s house in the High Street, hoping that the citizens of Exeter still held on to their custom of reappointing Toby when it was their turn to undertake the much-hated job. Elizabeth, looking cool as a cucumber and calm to boot, slid out of the saddle and knocked at the front door. A round-cheeked, jolly little woman answered, explaining that she was his sister.
‘No, my Lady, Tobias has gone off to Lady Sidmouth’s house. Appears there was a terrible shooting up there last night. He went off soon after dawn when one of her footmen arrived in a coach.’
The Apothecary groaned aloud and spoke forcefully.
‘Elizabeth, I am going off to have breakfast. The horse is exhausted and so am I. You do as you please.’
He had not intended to sound so brusque but obviously it touched a spark with the Marchesa. She was silent for a moment or two and then she said, ‘You’re quite right. We must give the animals a rest. I’ll join you.’
They did not speak a great deal during the meal until John covered one of Elizabeth’s hands with his and said, ‘Thank you for last night. It was tremendous and exciting. And worth all the riding.’ He laughed then and added, ‘In every sense.’
She laughed back and, pulling his face towards hers, plonked a kiss on his nose. ‘I suggest we take the horses home, then change. And we’ll go to Lady Sidmouth’s by coach.’
‘I utterly agree with you,’ John said thankfully.
Tobias Miller stood in the Grand Saloon and looked about him carefully. Then he crossed to the French doors and let himself out into the garden, seeing if the villains had left any visible tracks behind them. Sure enough, there were a couple of footprints in the flower bed and Toby, after staring at them for a moment or two, took out a little ruler from his inner pocket and measured them. They were clearly not left by a woman — unless she had simply enormous feet — and the indent of the heel was larger than any left by a woman’s shoe. Taking out a notebook from another hidden pocket, he made a rough pencil sketch of the footprint before stepping back into the Saloon.
Lady Sidmouth was inside, looking more than a little miserable.
‘I cannot think why there should have been such an attack. And at a wedding feast. It really is too bad.’
‘My Lady, may I sit down?’ asked Toby politely.
‘Oh there I am forgetting common courtesy. Please do, Constable Miller. Now how can I assist?’
‘First of all, Madam, I would like a list of all the people present yesterday, including their addresses, if such a thing should be possible.’
‘Oh yes indeed, it most certainly is. It was a wedding and we had sent invitations and listed all those who could come and those who refused. I will get a servant to fetch it for you.’ She rang a little bell and when a footmen came ordered him to fetch the wedding list and also bring some refreshment for Constable Miller.
‘Thank you, Ma’am, you are very kind. A cup of tea would be pleasant. And now, if you’ll forgive me, I would like to speak of the events of yesterday afternoon.’
‘Certainly.’
‘These assassins. You say they wore brown shifts and poke bonnets, but did you conclude they were disguises, to hide their true identity?’
‘Oh quite definitely. I thought they were men, in fact. You see, they had big hands and feet and quite broad shoulders. One of them definitely, though the other was smaller.’
‘Um. And though they shot at everyone, would you say the target was the Earl of St Austell?’
‘That really is hard to conclude. It seemed to me that they were on a mad killing spree. But that doesn’t really make any sense. But then, what does?’
‘Quite.’
The Constable was silenced by the arrival of his tea. When the footman had left, he asked, ‘And where is the widow now?’
Lady Sidmouth stared and then said, ‘Oh you mean Miranda. She is prostrate in her room, poor girl. She has stepped straight out of her wedding gown and into deepest black.’
‘As you say, Madam, she is to be much pitied. Now, as you know, I have examined all three bodies and it will be my duty to send them on to the Exeter mortuary. The Coroner will release them in due course and then they may be duly buried.’
‘I see. Tell me, what did you conclude from your examination?’
‘I am no medical man as you know, my Lady. But judging from their injuries I would say that the Earl was definitely the target. He was shot four times. Mrs James had one bullet wound to the heart and Mr Meakin looked as if he had been shot almost by accident.’
‘I see. So what does that tell you?’
‘You want my honest opinion?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then I would say they were hired assassins and their brief was to kill the Earl and, perhaps, Lettice James. Mr Meakin I am not so certain of.’
Lady Sidmouth went very white. ‘But who could possibly have hired them?’
‘That’s what I’m going to find out. Did the Earl have any enemies that you know of?’
‘Dozens, I should imagine.’
Tobias looked up from his notebook. ‘Really? Who for example?’
‘I really don’t think I would care to say that.’
‘That is up to you, Lady Sidmouth. But I shall find out in any case. You can be assured of it.’
‘That is entirely your affair, Constable.’
‘Yes, Madam, it is.’
As Tobias Miller was making his way out he ran into that most exemplary man, John Rawlings, together with that formidable female, the Marchesa di Lorenzi.
‘Ah, Mr Rawlings, how are you, my dear Sir? What are you doing in this part of the world?’ John opened his mouth to reply but the Constable continued, ‘Let me hazard a guess. You were invited to the wedding and witnessed the happenings of yesterday afternoon.’
‘Quite right. But what you didn’t know was that the Lady Elizabeth and I called on you this morning to be told that you had made an early visit to Lady Sidmouth.’
The Constable lowered his voice. ‘Is there anywhere we can talk privately?’
‘I can only think of the cellar. Nobody will venture down there because of the bodies.’
The Marchesa spoke. ‘Then I’ll call on Lady Sidmouth and keep her occupied. Meanwhile you two can have your private discussion.’
‘Thank you, Madam,’ said the Constable and gave her a formal bow.
Walking quietly, John and Tobias made their way round the house and in at the back door used by the servants. The steep circular staircase that it was the daily lot of the employees to climb or descend was immediately to their left. Without a word both men plunged downwards.
The atmosphere in the cellar was horrible. For no good reason John felt the hairs on his neck rise. All the old stories of ghosts and ghouls flashed through his mind. And then, quite distinctly, he heard a sound. Tobias turned
to him with raised eyebrows and the Apothecary motioned him to be quiet. They crept forward to where lay the three mounds, all covered with fresh white linen.
‘Don’t move or I’ll shoot,’ said Tobias, drawing a pistol.
For answer there was silence, followed by a long, terrible, gasping sob.
Twenty
Pistol drawn and looking thoroughly menacing, Tobias strode forward to see a quivering heap clutching at the sheet covering the Earl of St Austell and letting forth a series of loud sobs.
‘Stand up, Sir!’ he shouted. ‘Stand up and act like a man.’
Much to the Apothecary’s surprise the fellow whose character he was still attempting to read, Viscount Falmouth, rose to his feet and stood noisily crying into his spectacles.
Tobias showed no mercy. ‘Well, Sir, and what do you have to say for yourself?’
‘He was my grandfather, for the love of God. Have you no pity?’ came the reply, punctuated by sobs.
‘I am sorry, your Grace, but I do not think this is a suitable place for you to be. I am here investigating a crime and I think you would be better off praying in a church.’
The Constable’s form of address brought home to John the fact that the Viscount was now the new Earl of St Austell and as such should be acting with a certain dignity, however racked his emotions were. Remembering his first meeting with him, when Falmouth had come into his shop and asked him for strengthening medicine for his elderly relative and behaved with such absent-mindedness, John could hardly marry the different parts of the man’s character. Looking at the sobbing wreck before him and recalling the vague young man he had first encountered, the Apothecary felt quite puzzled by the whole affair.
Falmouth slowly dried his eyes. He looked at Tobias with nothing short of loathing.
‘Are you devoid of all feelings, man? This was my beloved grandfather. Have you ever lost a relative?’
‘Yes, indeed I have, your Grace. When I was sixteen years old. Both of my parents died of influenza. And I was left in charge of a brood of siblings. Which, I might add, I brought up as decent and hard-working people. Every one.’
‘Well, that’s very commendable I’m sure. But I am newly struck by grief and I insist on paying respect to my grandfather’s remains.’
And remains were about all they were, John thought, vividly remembering the fact that after the shooting the late Earl had been nothing but a mass of torn flesh and eyeballs. But further discussion was useless as from the staircase came a banging and crashing announcing the arrival of officials of some sort.
‘We’re from the coroner’s office,’ said the headman, who obviously knew Toby from years past. ‘Three to take to the mortuary. That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘They’re not coffined up,’ answered the Constable.
Falmouth intervened. ‘Have a care there. I’ll have you know that one of the bodies belongs to the late Earl of St Austell.’
The man looked unimpressed. ‘Would you rather he was removed by your undertaker then, Sir?’
‘Of course I would. Does he have to go to the mortuary?’
‘The law is the law, Sir. Earl or churl, it’s all the same in the end.’
‘I’ve had enough of this conversation,’ said Falmouth. He turned to Tobias. ‘I am charging you as part of your sacred duty to see to it that my relative is treated with the respect he commanded in life. Do you hear me?’
‘I certainly do, Sir,’ answered Toby, and gave a little bow.
The new Earl stormed out of the cellar with John following behind him.
‘Please don’t be angry, your Grace,’ he said in as pleasant a voice as he could muster. ‘The Constable was only doing his duty.’
‘Duty be damned. The man’s an officious oaf.’
John was about to add that Tobias Miller was also extremely good at his job but thought better of it. In fact he maintained a stolid silence as Falmouth strode into the garden, snorting like a dragon and muttering under his breath.
‘Please calm down, your Grace,’ he ventured finally. ‘Would you like me to fetch you a cordial?’
‘No, but I’ll have a brandy. And fetch one for yourself as well.’
Hardly able to come to terms with the two sides of the Earl’s character, John went into the house and immediately encountered Lady Sidmouth.
‘Falmouth’s in one of his strops, I see,’ she said. ‘I’ve been watching him out of the window.’
‘He was down in the cellar, mourning beside the late Earl’s body. He did not like being interrupted.’
‘Obviously not!’ she replied acidly. ‘Now, go and get him to sit down and I will send one of the servants to you. What is it he requires? Brandy, I suppose.’
‘You’re right. Where is Elizabeth, by the way?’
‘She has gone upstairs to comfort the Countess — Miranda to you and me — and then to see Lady Imogen, who has done nothing but weep uncontrollably since her miscarriage. Must run in the family.’
‘Obviously. And where has Lord George skulked off to?’
‘Heaven knows. He’s probably getting drunk in some Exeter tavern. He roared off from here in his coach and hasn’t been seen since.’
‘Oh well at least he’s out of harm’s way. Unless he’s punching Freddy Warwick, of course,’ John said with a smile, and got a rather watery response from Lady Sidmouth.
The woman must have an iron constitution, he thought. To put up with the ghastly affair of the shooting at the wedding feast and then to cope with a household of uncontrolled people falling apart, must take an iron will. Without really thinking, the Apothecary put his arms round her.
She looked at him, a little startled. ‘What’s all this then?’
‘I just wanted to say what a truly remarkable woman I think you are.’
Lady Sidmouth set her jaw. ‘Oh come now, Mr Rawlings. I am only doing my duty as head of the house.’
‘You’re a fine woman, Madam. Now, did you know that some men have arrived from the coroner’s office?’
‘No. Why are they here?’
‘To take the bodies to the mortuary where they are to be examined by a physician. The coroner will definitely hold an inquest because of the circumstances.’
‘I see. So when will St Austell be released for burial?’
‘I’m not sure. But not too long. I think the new Earl had better get on with making the funeral arrangements. Give him something to think about.’
‘It will indeed. Mr Rawlings, please tell him so.’
John went back to the gardens, but it was to find that Falmouth had wandered off somewhere and he was alone. After hunting around he decided that he would be better pursuing investigations, so he returned to the great house to find that Elizabeth had come downstairs and was ready to leave. Bidding farewell to Lady Sidmouth they got into their coach. As soon as they were seated the Marchesa positively burst into speech.
‘My dear John, what a house of wailing women! First Miranda. She is clad from head to toe in deepest black and even has a veil over her face. She lies on a bed with curtains drawn, sobbing into the pillow and refuses to speak to anyone. It is one of the best acts I have ever seen.’
‘You think it is pretence?’
‘I’ll swear it is. I mean, when one looks at the situation it was obvious she was marrying simply to get a title — and the riches thrown in, of course. I don’t think she had any feelings for St Austell at all. But now she is milking her widowhood for all she is worth. Silly little cat.’
‘Oh come now, don’t be unkind.’
‘I’m sorry but it is what I believe. And as for Imogen — well, she defeats me.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, as far as rumour has it her horrible old grandfather has been interfering with her since she was a child. But the way she is carrying on makes one think that the loss of her baby was a terrible blow to her.’
‘Perhaps it was fathered by someone else.’
Elizabeth was silent. ‘I had not t
hought of that. You’re probably right.’ She squeezed the Apothecary’s arm. ‘Has this been helpful to your investigations?’
‘Very,’ John answered. He thought for a moment then said, ‘Do you know I’ve a mind to call on Sir Clovelly Lovell. The poor old boy was terribly shaken by yesterday’s events. I saw him leaving the feast looking pale as a wraith. Unfortunately I didn’t get a chance to speak to him.’
‘He was not injured, surely?’
‘No, I’m glad to say he was not. But still it must have upset him terribly. Do you mind if I take the coach?’
‘Not at all. Give him my love.’
‘I certainly will.’
An hour later he was sitting in Sir Clovelly Lovell’s parlour where an anguished figure, looking drawn and haggard, was shaking his heavy jowls from side to side and reminding John vividly of a miserable dog as he did so. He was still clad in his night shirt and gown and had a turban on his head which was fractionally too small, so that it appeared like the fez worn by a performing monkey rather than the adornment of a sultan.
‘Oh John,’ he was saying. ‘I mean to say, my dear fellow. Pour me another glass of port if you’d be so good.’ His glass refilled, he continued to speak. ‘What a ghastly moment. I thought my last hour had come.’
‘Do you mean to say that you were aimed at?’
‘Most certainly I was. And that was the damned odd thing. The smaller of the two pointed his pistol directly at me and the taller man whispered, “No, not that one.”’
‘What?’
‘“Not that one.” At least it was something on those lines, but I was too busy ducking beneath the table to make it out completely.’
‘And you were sure they were men?’
‘Positive. Remember I heard them speak.’
‘Of course. So how are you feeling now, old friend?’
‘Terrible. I called my physician this morning. He came and charged me a small fortune for telling me to lose weight. He said the whole experience had raised my heartbeat and that I was to take things somewhat easier. Then he told me to cut down on alcohol and food. Damn killjoy.’
John nodded sympathetically, then ventured, ‘Of course, when one is in a state of high alarm one should abstain from certain substances.’
