by Deryn Lake
‘Why,’ said Elizabeth, ‘your daughter Rose of course.’
Twenty-Six
The Marchesa had gone for an early morning ride and John ate his breakfast alone, thinking that there was one person left on the list of people he had promised to see, and that was Mrs Cushen. When he had last met Tobias Miller the Constable had informed him of her address — or rather that of the distant relation whom she had come to Exeter to comfort — and the Apothecary was just wondering whether his hindquarters could put up with another day in the saddle, when Elizabeth walked in.
She was fresh from her morning ride, her skin glowing, her eyes clear, smelling of the sweet countryside. John knew with a lurch of his heart that whatever happened in the future he would never forget this moment of seeing her like a goddess of spring, of loving her, of knowing that unless the situation changed he must one day inevitably part from her.
She smiled at him. ‘You are looking wistful. Why?’
‘I was just wondering if my behind could take another ride to Exeter.’
‘You want to borrow the coach again? Well, you can. I intend to stay at home today and mull over all the things you have told me and come to some sort of conclusion. Because there is a thread there and I am determined to find it.’
‘Sweetheart, I could not manage without you.’
‘I think you could do so perfectly well. Remember that you are now running a successful company as well as having your own shop. I think you are a highly competent young man.’
‘Mrs Fortune is in charge of the business. She is the one you should call competent.’
‘And is she beautiful as well as clever?’
‘Not beautiful exactly but certainly very attractive.’
‘Ah ha,’ answered the Marchesa, and would say no more.
An hour later the coach set off for Exeter and proceeded at a fine pace towards the city. Somewhat to the Apothecary’s surprise it stopped at a small house immediately opposite the great cathedral and the coachman called down, ‘This is the place, Sir.’
Thinking that the lady would not have far to go to pray, John climbed out and knocked at the door, then waited. There was no reply and he was just about to turn away when he heard the shuffle of feet and the bolts being drawn back. The door opened an inch or two and there stood Mr Cushen, looking bleary and still in his night attire.
‘Oh forgive me, Sir,’ the Apothecary said pleasantly. ‘I just came to call to see how you were. But I can tell this is an inconvenient time so I shall leave you in peace.’
The door opened wider and Mr Cushen answered, ‘Oh no, come in, I beg you. You are an apothecary are you not? My wife has fallen into an hysterical fit and I have been awake all night trying to calm her. Please see if you can do anything. Anything at all.’
John turned to the coachman and said, ‘If you don’t mind hurrying to the herbalist’s shop on High Street and getting him to give you an infusion of Black Horehound. Then when you come back, knock at the front door and I will answer.’
The carriage rattled away and John followed Mr Cushen up the stairs and into a dark and rather smelly bedroom where Mrs Cushen lay twisting and moaning on a narrow bed.
‘My dear Madam,’ said John, crouching down beside her. ‘What is the matter? How can I help you?’
‘You can find Herman for me,’ she said, then suddenly started to cry, throwing herself at John and weeping all over his shirt.
‘Millicent, hush dear,’ said Mr Cushen from the doorway, a strange urgency in his tone.
John glanced at him and saw how white the poor man was. Indeed he looked the very image of a being in an agony of spirit.
‘Why, where has he gone?’ he asked.
‘Oh, he’s drinking in some low tavern with his equally low associates. But he has been away several days now.’
A tremendous flash of inspiration came to the Apothecary as he recalled the red hair he had gathered in Wildtor Grange. He produced from his pocket the awful shabby garter that Cordelia had picked up at the wedding feast and which Toby Miller had decided it would be better if John kept.
‘I came to return him this,’ he said, opening his palm to display it.
The parents stared at it, then Mr Cushen said, ‘Yes, that’s his. He lost it somewhere or other. Where did you find it?’
As quick as a lightning flash the whole picture came into focus. Herman’s sudden wealth in the inn the other day, his fondness for the Exeter low-life. Surely one of them had been hired by the person behind the killings and had asked Herman to help him execute the plan. Into John’s pictorial memory he flashed a picture of the two old women who had come in to kill the company and, sure enough, the shorter of the two had been the same build as young Mr Cushen.
‘It was found at the wedding feast,’ he said in a calm voice. ‘It was dropped by one of the murderers.’
His father looked at John blearily. ‘No, he…’
‘The truth will always come out,’ said the Apothecary, cutting across him, not unkindly. ‘And I think you half-guessed it already. Didn’t you?’
‘What will happen to him?’ whispered his mother.
‘I don’t know,’ answered John.
But he did. Herman would be tried by judge and jury and the sentence of death would be passed on him. And that would be the end of his wretched life. But behind him would be left two people who would grieve for the rest of their days on earth and who did not deserve to endure such a terrible punishment.
There was a knocking at the door and the coachman returned with the physick. John administered both poor wretches with a strong measure and finally left the house when they began to calm down. Then he went into the cathedral and offered up a prayer for the salvation of Herman’s soul and for some sort of peace to be granted to his parents. Then he went in search of the Constable.
Tobias Miller was at home, sitting at his desk, going through a sheaf of papers. He removed his pair of little glasses, perched on the bridge of his nose, and listened quietly while John recounted the scene at the house where the hysterical Mrs Cushen was residing. The he sprang to his feet.
‘So that’s who the killer is. Well, we’ll find him. He’s bound to be in one of the alehouses drinking his brains into a pulp.’
He rapidly made a list of all the inns of Exeter and divided it in half.
‘Here you are, Sir. You can start at The Dragon by the East Gate and work your way through.’
‘What shall I do if I see him?’
‘Nothing. Engage him in conversation, keep him talking. If I don’t find him first I’ll follow in your footsteps. In any event we meet in The Blackamore’s Head in an hour’s time. Better still, bring him with you if you possibly can. He strikes me as a rather solitary young man from what you’ve said. I think he’ll be glad of a companion to drink with.’
The Dragon revealed nobody and so turned out the rest of John’s perambulations through the drinking houses of town. Eventually he turned up at The Blackamore’s Head, slightly weary, and glad to see that the Constable had got there before him.
‘Did you find him?’ John asked.
‘Yes, I found him alright.’
‘What happened?’
‘I arrested him on the spot and he threw a punch at me that caught me completely unawares and felled me to the ground. Then he and his companion — a long, lanky fellow who was probably the other old lady that you saw — took off at a rate of knots. I ran after them, I raised a hue and cry, other people joined in, but the villains were too fast for any of us. They completely vanished in one of the many alleyways. I have failed in my duty, Mr Rawlings, and to prove it I’ve got an eye that will shine like a shitten barn door tomorrow.’
John leaned forward and saw that the Constable’s eye was indeed turning a dramatic shade of black. ‘Come on. We’ll go to the apothecary in High Street. He can put some leaves on that that will greatly reduce the swelling.’
‘But what about our two runaways?’
‘Leave them for the time being.
We can put up posters and somebody will turn them in, you may depend on it.’
John had never been more glad in his life than to have a coach at his disposal. He took the ailing Tobias to the apothecary, saw his wound dressed, escorted him home and then set off to join Elizabeth who was waiting for him, sitting thoughtfully in the Blue Room and staring into space. She jumped up as soon as she heard him come in and said, ‘There is much I need to discuss with you, my dear.’
‘Sweetheart, can we talk over dinner? I have had nothing to eat since breakfast.’
‘It will have to be supper. I dined at four with Lady Sidmouth.’
‘Did you now? And did she have much of interest to say?’
‘Very much so. I promise to tell you all about it as soon as we are seated.’
John hurried upstairs to change and on the way looked into the nursery. In two cots on either side of the room his sons lay sleeping peacefully. First he leant over James, noticing the details of his face which seemed to be changing. The Apothecary wondered then when exactly it was that babies grow. Every day you saw them and they looked the same, but all the time they were doing that miraculous thing — getting bigger.
He crossed over to Jasper, identical in every way to his brother. How sweet he was, a flicker of light coming through a gap in the drawn curtains illuminating the sweep of dark lashes against the creamy skin. The hair, curly like the Apothecary’s but midnight black like Elizabeth’s, was already growing thickly on his head. John tiptoed back to James and saw that he, too, had a good dark thatch. His eyes filled with tears and he wished for the millionth time that everything could have been different and that Elizabeth had been a woman who wished for a settled life. But then would he have loved her as much and as powerfully as he did? He knew the answer as he left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
She was playing with the piece of veiling and looking thoughtful as he came downstairs ten minutes later. She smiled up at him.
‘Would you like some sherry?’ she asked.
‘Indeed I would.’
He sat down opposite her and told her, quite quietly, that Herman Cushen had been one of the two assassins and that though the Constable had given chase he had lost him in the back streets of Exeter.
‘But why him?’ Elizabeth said. ‘What grudge could he possibly bear against the people he shot?’
‘None whatsoever. It was done for money, pure and simple. He probably fell in with some of the rough element of local society and one of them was hired by the murderer to go and do the dirty deed at the wedding breakfast. That is my reading of the situation.’
‘So who is the murderer?’
‘At the moment your guess is as good as mine. Tell me, what did Lady Sidmouth have to say?’
‘She is extremely worried about the sick women in her house. Mostly she is concerned about Felicity, who is recovering somewhat slowly from the bullet wound she received. The surgeon from town calls every day to tend to her.’
John pulled an amused face and one of his mobile brows was raised.
‘Exactly what I was thinking,’ Elizabeth continued with a laugh. ‘She is slightly less concerned about Miranda, however, who has started to eat again, but very little. The Countess insists on keeping to her room and cries at least once an hour. Very loudly.’
‘What a bore! Did she have anything else to say?’
‘Only that Felicity feels that she is in some sort of danger but cannot explain why. Her high fever has made her delusional and prone to strange fears.’
‘I see,’ said John, and put his chin on his fingers. ‘I should like to go and visit her tomorrow.’
‘I don’t see why you shouldn’t. After all, you can call in a professional capacity.’
‘I should not like to interfere with Mr Perkins,’ he said, grinning once more.
‘I am sure that Mr Perkins can take care of himself,’ Elizabeth answered innocently.
Twenty-Seven
All night long the thought that Felicity believed herself in danger came back to haunt him. Was it merely that she had a high fever and was suffering from delusions or was it something more sinister? Whatever the problem, John slept little and rose early and made his way to the stables as soon as he had eaten. There he once more borrowed the good-natured horse — as good natured as any horse can be, that is — and heaved himself into the saddle. Then he set off for Sidmouth House as quickly as it was possible for him to go.
He had taken the precaution of packing a small bag with medicaments for fever and ague: Cinquefoil, for he had been taught in his training that one leaf cures a quotidian, three a tertian and four a quartan ague; Angelica, otherwise known as Tansies or Heart’s Ease, and a pleasant plant to use; and Centaury, which when boiled and rubbed into the skin was a sure-fire cure for everything from sciatica to voiding the dead birth.
Halfway to Lady Sidmouth’s residence it started to rain, heavily, with large drops that penetrated his clothes and soaked him to the underwear. Cursing his luck, the Apothecary rode gamely on but eventually drew to a halt beneath a large tree, to give the animal a rest as much as anything. Dismounting, he drew the horse into the deep shade and there waited for a quarter of an hour.
While he stood in silence he saw a horseman go by. Admiring the man’s easy athleticism, John stared with envy as he passed close to them. He did not have a full glimpse of the face for the man had his collar turned up and his hat pulled down, but he could have sworn it was Lord George. So he was back from Cornwall empty handed. In the excitement of yesterday John had forgotten to ask Tobias Miller if he had any news of the whereabouts of Imogen, and now he found himself truly hoping that she had made her escape from that rotten family.
John’s thoughts turned to Maurice, the new Earl. He was certainly a strange character, not exactly unlikeable but nebulous. He seemed to have a different skin for every occasion, rather like a chameleon. The Apothecary was in the unusual position of still being uncertain as to what the man was really about. He wondered then if Maurice had something of a yen for Felicity, but discounted that idea in favour of George. The handsome rake would have married anyone who could have brought him a good dowry and he had certainly had his eye roving around at the wedding feast. But that had been before the two assassins came in and killed three people.
The rain had eased off and John remounted again with some difficulty and continued on his journey. A quarter of an hour later the splendid house came into view and John walked the horse round to the stables so that he might arrive on foot. Feeling like a tatterdemalion, his hat slopping water, a bag in his hand like a salesman, his coat drenched through, the Apothecary rang the bell.
A footman answered and looked at him in some surprise. ‘Mr Rawlings, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, I have called to see Miss Felicity.’
‘If you would wait in the small receiving room, Sir, I shall send for Lady Sidmouth.’
John handed the footman his damp coat and hat and waited in silence for a moment or two before the door was flung open and Lady Sidmouth stood there. To say she was much changed would have been too great an exaggeration, but she was most certainly haggard and looked on the point of collapse. So much so that the Apothecary hurried forward and helped her into a chair.
‘My dear Lady Sidmouth,’ he said, ‘sit down, do. You look quite weary.’
‘I am wrung out, my friend. I am so worried about my daughter. She seems to be getting weaker by the minute, despite the ministrations of Mr Perkins. He cannot understand it. The wound is healing up but in her body she is deteriorating. Oh dear.’
And she flung the apron she always wore over her face so that John could not see her tears. He waited a moment then said, ‘Would you like me to have a look at her?’
The apron lowered. ‘Indeed I would, Sir.’
‘Tell me, is she eating?’
‘All she will have is a little vegetable soup. She spends most of her time sleeping.’
‘But a few days ago she was in th
e garden with Mr Perkins.’
‘That is the strangeness of her complaint. It is as if some awful thing is attacking her. But heaven alone knows what when she is tucked safely in her room night and day.’
‘And how is Miranda coping with life?’
‘Oh, she’s calming down a little. After all, she has to follow her husband’s coffin to Cornwall tomorrow. The funeral is to be held there in two days’ time.’
‘And Lady Imogen will not be present, I take it.’
She shot him a look and in her eyes he read everything. Lady Sidmouth knew exactly what had happened and, indeed, condoned it.
‘No, Sir, she will not be there. She has eloped with my estate manager and they have both gone to Dorset to start a new life. By now I believe they will be man and wife and there is nothing anybody can do to her any more.’
‘May I ask you a straight question?’
‘Of course.’
‘Was she abused by her grandfather?’
‘Most certainly. In a way those masquerading old women did her an enormous favour.’
‘Do you think she was behind the killings?’
Lady Sidmouth gave him a startled look. ‘Good gracious, no. She was desperately unhappy but she would never have stooped that low.’
‘Then who was it? Do you know?’
She shook her head. ‘No, Mr Rawlings, I don’t. It has puzzled me ever since. Who would want to see the Earl dead other than Imogen? And she is quite definitely innocent.’
John ran his mind over the other two victims but would have sworn an oath that neither of them had a family that could have done such a thing as murder.
He looked at Lady Sidmouth with a great deal of sympathy. ‘Let me talk to Felicity. Perhaps I will be able to glean something of what this mysterious ailment is.’
He found her lying in a great bed with the curtains drawn darkly round it. As John pulled them back she let out a little mew and put her hand over her eyes. He turned back to Lady Sidmouth.
‘Would you mind leaving us alone for a few minutes? She will be perfectly safe with me.’
