Death at the Wedding Feast jr-14

by Deryn Lake

  ‘I know that. Just find out what ails her, John. I am begging you to do so.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I shall do my absolute best.’

  Sitting on the bed he leant closely to Felicity who was whispering something in a tired, small voice.

  ‘John?’

  ‘Yes, I’m here. Tell me what is happening. Why do you feel threatened?’

  ‘I saw them again.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The couple on the beach. And they saw me, I know it. They both looked up and they noticed me gazing at them from the top of the cliff. And after that my condition got worse and worse. Oh John, I think I am dying.’

  ‘Nonsense. Once I’ve found out what is going wrong I shall have you up and about in no time. Now, tell me. When was it you last saw them?’

  ‘Three nights ago. Mr Perkins had called that evening and I felt neither too ill nor too tired to sleep after he had gone. So I wandered the length of the garden to where the grasses sweep down to the sea and then I stopped in my tracks. Because there on the beach below they were walking in the twilight, arms around each other, her scarf blowing up in the wind.’

  ‘Did you recognize them?’

  ‘No, not really.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I would hate to name the wrong person and get them into trouble.’

  John decided to leave that for the moment and asked instead, ‘What have you been eating?’

  ‘Only a mouthful or two of soup. And a little sip of wine.’

  ‘Who brings it to you?’

  ‘The maids. It comes from the kitchen.’

  ‘I see. Promise me you will let nothing pass your lips until I return. I need to talk to your mother urgently.’

  Felicity brought her mouth close to his ear. ‘Is someone trying to poison me?’

  ‘I don’t know yet but I am about to find out.’

  So saying he pulled the curtains back round her bed and hastened downstairs to where Lady Sidmouth stood anxiously waiting.

  ‘What is the matter with her? Were you able to discover anything?’

  ‘I think someone is giving her poison. If you take my advice, Lady Sidmouth, I would bundle her into a nightrail and several shawls and send her in a carriage to Lady Elizabeth’s. There we can be absolutely sure of the food that is given her and she can recuperate in peace.’

  The heavy-lidded eyes of the little woman opened wide. ‘Poisoned, you say? But who could be doing such a thing? The staff are all devoted to her.’

  He looked at her very seriously. ‘I cannot say at this stage and, besides, I would prefer not to do so until I am absolutely sure. But please take my advice and get her away as soon as possible.’

  ‘You are certain Elizabeth will not object?’

  ‘She most certainly will do as I ask when I tell her how urgent the matter is.’

  Just as Lady Sidmouth was going upstairs Miranda was coming down, escorted by her personal maid to whose arm the Countess clung for dear life. She was skeletally thin and her little-girl face had now slimmed down to one of high cheekbones and beauteous curves. Her eyes were dry but were red-rimmed through many hours of weeping. She was dressed entirely in black, her widow’s weeds hanging round her face. She jumped when she saw John below, watching her.

  ‘Oh, Mr Rawlings, how you startled me. This is my first time downstairs since that terrible tragedy. I am awaiting the arrival of my grandstepsons who will escort me back to Cornwall and my new life.’ She wrung her hands. ‘But what life could there possibly be after the death of him I loved most?’

  She gazed downwards as she negotiated the last few steps and John noticed that tears threatened to spring up once more.

  ‘Madam, calm yourself, I beg you,’ he said. ‘You must make a resolve to act with an iron will in the presence of all the servants and relatives who will, no doubt, be examining you with a mixture of love and envy. Chin up, I implore you.’

  She turned on him a look which contained a myriad of emotions. ‘It is easy for you to speak, Sir. You live comfortably with your mistress and your little bastards, but I have to carry my sorrow with me to the grave.’

  ‘You forget that it is only a temporary home for me. I must leave for London soon and then what of my mistress and my bastards, as you choose to call them? I shall miss them as cruelly as if they had died, believe me.’

  She softened. ‘I am sorry that I said that. You speak the truth indeed. We all have problems to bear in one way or another.’

  But John did not answer. Instead he was looking out of the window to where Maurice — who had presumably met George on the way — was greeting his brother. ‘I think your grandstepsons have arrived for you now. My, how handsome they are in their black.’

  The new Earl and, or so he supposed, the new Viscount Falmouth, formerly Lord George, were alighting from their horses and making their way to the front door, hats clutched firmly in hands.

  As they came into the hall the Apothecary gave them a respectful bow. ‘Good day, your Lordships.’

  ‘Good day, Mr Rawlings,’ answered Maurice. ‘Have you anything to keep up the spirits with you? We have a long journey to Cornwall ahead of us and are quite in the dumps at the thought of it.’

  Miranda spoke. ‘It is all very well for you to talk, my Lord. It is I who bear the greatest burden of grief.’

  They rushed to her side, making sounds of sympathy, leading her away to a nearby room where they seated her on a sofa and rang the bell for brandy. John kept an eye on them through the partially open door which he gently closed shut as he saw Felicity being carried in the arms of a stout-hearted footman towards the front entrance. Outside a carriage was drawn up, presumably summoned by Lady Sidmouth.

  ‘I’ll follow in ten minutes,’ he whispered to the fragile girl. ‘Don’t worry. Elizabeth will look after you.’

  She opened her eyes, nodded, then closed them again. Lady Sidmouth let out a subdued sob and John put his arm round her shoulders. And at that moment George opened the door and walked into the hall.

  ‘Well, stap me, if it isn’t Felicity. Where are you going to my pretty maid?’

  John gave a disarming smile. ‘She is going to stay with Lady Elizabeth for a few days. Recuperation and all that.’

  ‘Good heavens. I didn’t realize she was that ill. I’ll go and tell the others. They’ll want to bid her farewell.’

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t do that, my Lord. It is imperative that the patient is kept absolutely quiet. If you would be so good.’

  The new Viscount stood nonplussed, his handsome face suddenly rather silly and slack-jawed.

  ‘Thank you so much, my Lord,’ John continued airily.

  Lady Sidmouth picked up the theme and said, ‘Thank you, George. I knew you would understand.’

  And his lordship could do nothing but stand there and gape as the others swept out through the front door into the dreary afternoon.

  Twenty-Eight

  As soon as John had seen Felicity into the coach and given instructions to the driver, he hurried round to Lady Sidmouth’s kitchens where he gave great attention to a pile of unpeeled parsnips. Having sniffed and gingerly tasted the end of one of them he seemed satisfied, and without saying farewell to anyone he left by the kitchen door and rode home.

  He passed the coach bearing Felicity on the way back and rode as hard as he was able to get to Elizabeth before the sick girl. He made it with about ten minutes to spare, and during that time blurted out his suspicions about poisoning and his findings in Lady Sidmouth’s kitchen.

  ‘And are you certain?’ demanded the Marchesa.

  ‘Positive. It was common Water Hemlock lying innocently amongst the parsnips, which it closely resembles.’

  ‘But anyone could have eaten it.’

  ‘Precisely. I think we are dealing with an evil and diseased mind here. Now please look after Felicity. I would advise you to sleep in the same room in case anyone tries to get at her in the night. I realize that it might s
ound melodramatic but there is a cruel poisoner at work.’

  Elizabeth gave him a direct look. ‘Is this the same person who organized the killings at the wedding feast?’

  ‘Very probably, yes.’

  ‘Then I shall arm myself accordingly.’

  Even in these dire circumstances the Apothecary could not help but smile. The Marchesa might be one of the most beautiful, most seductive women ever born, but she was also one of the toughest and strongest street fighters he had come across in his entire life. He knew that she had personally practically annihilated the gang of dross who called themselves The Angels. They had based their doings on The Mohocks of London and had terrorized the poor people of Exeter who hardly dared leave their homes after dark. And they had also killed her son by making him an opium addict. The Marchesa’s revenge had been swift and terrible but just. The Society of Angels no longer existed.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘And now I’ve one more favour to ask.’

  Before he could say another word she smiled and said, ‘Can you borrow the coach tonight?’

  ‘The words saddle-sore were invented for me alone, I fear.’

  ‘You are nothing but a wretched Londoner, my good man.’

  ‘Nonsense, Madam, many people in town are fine riders. I just do not happen to be one of them.’

  She laughed and threw her arms around him and he was surrounded by the heady smell of lilac and woodruff and all the wonderful scents of her.

  ‘I shall always love you, you know that.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ she answered.

  And they were just about to exchange a longed-for embrace when the sounds of the carriage approaching came from outside and broke their wonderful moment.

  The day cleared of rain and began to fade gently. Tiny white clouds that looked as if they had been puffed out by putti bounced across the sky and the moon rose in a thin sliver. The air was gentle after the earlier rain, soft as a cat’s fur, and all the birds in the world began to sing their hymn to the coming night. John had always loved this time of day; dusk, twilight, eventide. He had loved it in all seasons: when the ground beneath his feet had been hard and crisp with snow and the night had been lit by a thousand crystal stars; when warm summer breezes had wooed his senses with the smell of flowers and somewhere in the distance a nightingale had started to sing; in autumn when he had kicked around the crisp, colourful leaves and had felt the first chill of coldness in the air; in the spring, that outrageous season, that despite the cool weather allowed the camellia to come into bud and delighted the eye with the first glimpse of snowdrops and crocuses.

  And now, as the carriage passed through the countryside and he saw that the evening was still light and early summer was lying over the land, his thoughts flew away for a moment and he forgot the reason for his secret journey back to Sidmouth House. But they came back to him with a jolt as he knocked on the ceiling with his stick and called to the coachman to pull up.

  They had stopped short of the property in the woods that centuries before had been partially cleared by labourers so that a fine house and glorious gardens could be built. The house had now been replaced and the gardens modernized, but, though thinned out, the woods still stood, and it was through the depths of these that the Apothecary silently made his way until the song of the sea sounded softly in his ears and he knew that he was going in the right direction.

  No one knew of this evening visit except John, who was determined to take a look at the beach and see if the lovers who walked on it would reappear, because he now had an opinion as to who they might be. Silently he proceeded through the hushed atmosphere of the trees until at last he emerged on to the open cliffland where the gardens of Sidmouth House went down to the lawns that, in turn, swept down to the sea.

  Twilight had come while he had been walking amongst the shady trees, and what he saw now was a small beach far below him lit by the crescent moon and the first stars. The sun was just spreading its last rays to the west, adding a warmth to the scene, and showing him that the beach was empty.

  John paused, turning his head slightly. It seemed to him that there was a slight noise behind him as if somebody — or something — was following in his footsteps. But when he swivelled round there was nobody to be seen and he thought he had imagined it. Silently, he began to descend the tiny path that led down to the shore. And then the two figures appeared out of nowhere, giving John a fright, though he realized immediately afterwards that they must have been in a cave and had just stepped out. They were walking away from him, entwined round each other, clearly very much in love.

  Quiet as a stalking cat John made his way down the path until it died away and he had to scramble over a couple of small rocks to reach the sand below. The couple were still walking away from him but he could see them clearly, their outlines etched blackly against the white of the waves and the glow of the sand. He knew who they were even before they turned around. He had suspected her, in particular, for some time. Of the identity of the man he had not been so certain. They turned at the beach’s end and John sank down behind a rock. Yet again he thought he heard a noise behind him but was in no position to wheel round and look. Very distantly he could hear snatches of the couple’s conversation.

  ‘… you have borne it all well, my love.’

  ‘… the thought of you…’

  ‘… you have earned that fortune…’

  ‘… lecherous old beast. Indeed I earned it!’

  From somewhere above a pebble fell to the ground, hitting a rock as it landed and making a definite noise. The couple froze, as did John.

  ‘What was that?’ said the woman, looking up towards the cliff.

  ‘I don’t know,’ the man answered. ‘We’d better be going. We must look suitably pious for the journey to Cornwall.’

  ‘I am dreading it. I shall hate people staring at me and then acting as I shall have to do.’

  They had walked forward as they spoke and John could now see their faces distinctly. He decided that the element of surprise would be best and reared up from behind his rock in an alarming manner. So much so that the woman gave an hysterical scream.

  ‘You bastard…’ said the man.

  But he never got any further. From somewhere above all their heads a person unseen fired what sounded like a blunderbuss straight into the cliff wall. There was a great stirring as if the whole mighty cliff was going to come down, and as John scrambled for the path a vast chunk of it fell. The Apothecary stood frozen to the spot, staring at the place where a moment before the lovers had walked. Now all was still except for the choking cloud of dust that was spreading over the beach and being carried ever onwards by the west wind.

  For a moment he literally could not move, his muscles seized by a type of catalepsy. Then he sprinted up the path as fast as was possible, aware all the time that there was someone running ahead of him, scurrying for all they were worth. But catching them was not his objective. Instead he wanted to raise men from the Big House. He ran on, aware that the sound in front of him had ceased, that whoever it was had gone off by some other route.

  It was the time of day when all the candles were being lit and John stopped for a moment, panting like a dog, and thought yet again what a truly beautiful house it was. Enchanting, indeed. Even the fact that there had been a terrible murder within its walls could do nothing to defile its loveliness.

  Knocking on the front door he explained breathlessly that there had been an accident on the beach below and that he needed men to help him shift the rockfall. Lady Sidmouth had retired for the night with a bad megrim so was not on hand to organize anything — but still they came. Footmen without their jackets and wigs, kitchen boys, gardeners, even the young lad whose sole duty was to clean the boots and shoes. But when they reached the top of the cliff and gazed downwards they saw to their horror that there was no beach. That most capricious of tides had suddenly changed and covered every bit of sand. The red cliff loomed silently, a scar on its face the only sign
that there had been a rockfall at all.

  The Apothecary looked downwards and knew that justice had been done by that oldest and most unpredictable element of all — the relentless ocean.

  Twenty-Nine

  They retrieved the bodies from the sea, brought in by the fishermen and landed on the beach at the small fishing village of Sidmouth. They lay side-by-side on the sand, the Countess of St Austell and her grandstepson Maurice, the Earl, before they were pitched on to a cart and driven off for identification. That was before they began to swell up and were almost impossible to identify by even their nearest and dearest. It was Lord George who was finally called in and, to his shame, he was forced to rush outside and lean against a wall gasping in great mouthfuls of air to stop himself from being sick. It was said, afterwards, that at that moment he grew up for the first time. For he was now the Earl of St Austell, and with the title went the responsibility of a great estate in Cornwall and the care of all the people who worked on and for it. Strangely, he became a responsible citizen and a much-respected man. But the last grim act he performed was to lay his grandfather and brother in the family crypt alone. For Miranda Tremayne, the new Countess, was placed in a solitary grave at the very edge of the churchyard and was never visited, being left desolate and friendless for time immemorial.

  The principal players in the drama that had taken place at the wedding feast had foregathered in the home of Tobias Miller, by his express invitation. Nearly all of them were present: John and Elizabeth, Freddy Warwick, Felicity, accompanied by the large and amiable Mr Perkins, Geoffrey James and rather surprisingly the small and perky Miss Melissa Meakin who had stopped crying and was smiling a greeting at all the new company. To round off the people present — in every sense of the word — was dear old Sir Clovelly Lovell.

  The Constable was in high humour, having started on the liquid refreshment some time before his guests arrived. And once the entire assemblage had foregathered and were standing somewhat tightly in his small reception room, glasses in hand, a definitely festive atmosphere could be sensed. Eventually, though, he called for them to be seated and pointed out that some of the gentlemen would have to sit on the floor as there were insufficient chairs to go round. Sir Clovelly, however, was offered a spacious chair to himself which he took with much joviality.