Death and the Cornish Fiddler

by Deryn Lake

  “Shush, my dear. I think this gentleman is a doctor,” said Mrs Legassick.

  “I am an apothecary actually, Madam. Now, Mrs Pill, let me have a look at you.”

  He knelt beside the fainting woman, acutely aware that the large lady was watching him with a positively lecherous expression on her face.

  Fortunately Isobel’s mother was too far gone to put up much resistance and swallowed a measure of physic that the Apothecary guided towards her mouth.

  “There, that should calm her.”

  “One of your magic potions?” It was the big woman speaking. “But excuse me Sir, allow me to present myself. I am Anne Anstey. I am so interested in the apothecary’s art. My late husband was one of your brotherhood, you know.”

  “Charmed, Madam. My name is John Rawlings,” John answered briefly, peering intently into Mrs Pill’s face which was utterly drained of colour. Suddenly, and rather shockingly, her eyes flew open and stared into his.

  “She’s drowned,” she hissed in a thrilling sibilant. “My girl’s drowned and I know it.”

  The thought that the Apothecary had resolutely been pushing away ever since he had seen Loe Pool now came surging back.

  “Nonsense, my dear,” said Mrs Anstey, “she’ll be home soon. As soon as it gets dark. They don’t like being out after dusk, do little girls.”

  But John, thinking of the size of Loe Pool and guessing at its depth, thought of little Isobel and knew that whatever faults the child might have had, she did not deserve a fate like that.

  “Tell me,” he said gently, “exactly what happened today. Explain to me what you saw.”

  The physic was obviously starting to take effect because Mrs Pill was visibly starting to relax. The weeping had stopped and along with it the high hysterical voice. Indeed her speech was now quite quiet and slow.

  “As I think you saw, Mr Rawlings, Isobel ran away from me down the street. I followed but being older I can’t run as fast as she, further my clothes impeded me. In any case I saw her sprint into the fields at the street’s end. Then I briefly lost sight of her as she disappeared into some trees. But then I saw her again as she hurried on. To cut to the heart of the matter I had some difficulty getting to the Pond because of the marshy land surrounding the Cober but I managed to make my way round it and there lay this enormous lake.”

  “Tell me, did you see Isobel there?”

  “No, no. I feel that she had already fallen in by the time I got there.”

  “But you have nothing to prove that. It’s only what you suspect.”

  “Come now, Kathryn. We walked right round the lake - a distance of about five miles, I might add - and nowhere was there a sign of anyone having fallen in. It is all in your imagination. I swear it.” Tim Painter had joined them and was doing his best to cheer up his light-of-love.

  Mrs Pill shook her head. “I know that she has gone. You cannot deny a mother’s instinct.”

  “I’m not denying it but I think you’re wrong,” Tim answered impatiently, and John caught himself thinking that the man was hardly sympathetic.

  He cleared his throat. “Madam, if I might suggest you retire and have a rest. I have informed the Constable of the turn of events and he has agreed to organise a search tomorrow. But it is his contention that Isobel will return before nightfall. And I think there is a good chance that he might be right.”

  Kathryn made signs that she wanted to rise and Anne Anstey heaved her to her feet. “Now you get some sleep, Mrs Pill, my dear. I promise to be here when you wake up again.” John asked, “Would you like me to accompany you to your room?”

  “No, I shall be perfectly all right. I’ll just go down for an hour or two.”

  And with that she staggered out, accompanied by the everpresent Mrs Anstey.

  Elizabeth looked directly at John. “What are the chances of the child having fallen in?”

  He raised his shoulders. “How would I know? The Pool is certainly large and deep but without any evidence one could not possibly say.”

  “But what do you really think?”

  “I shall wait and see if she returns before I say anything further.”

  Tim Painter spoke up. “Well, now that she’s gone I think Kathryn might well be right. I mean where did the child disappear to? She hasn’t been seen since this morning and that is a long time ago now.”

  The three of them stared at each other helplessly and it was at this moment that there was a movement in the doorway. Turning they saw the Constable, breathing hard and somewhat red in the face.

  “Ah, Sir,” he said, advancing on John, “wasn’t it you who came to report a missing child earlier?”

  “Yes, that’s right. Why, do you have news of her?”

  “Yes, Sir, I do. She, or a child answering her description, has been seen.”

  “But I didn’t give you her description,” the Apothecary answered.

  “Never the less, she’s been spotted.”

  “Where?” asked Tim Painter.

  “Up in the town, beyond the school and close to the church.”

  “What was she doing?” asked Elizabeth.

  The Constable roared with laughter. “Why, bless you all, she was dancing of course.”

  John was not sure who ran the faster, him or Tim Painter. Panting up the street to where the Guildhall stood, they turned left into the steeply sloping lane that led to the church. They pounded down this, going as fast as they could, at the same time calling out, “Isobel? Where are you?”

  There was no answer but they did not let that deter them. Instead they ran towards the holy building and, only slowing their steps slightly, sprinted the last few yards over open country to where the church stood serenely in its own grounds.

  “Do we go in?” asked Tim.

  “Of course. She might well be hiding inside.”

  Removing their headgear, which both men had thrust on before they started to run, they proceeded in through the door in the porch. Immediately the atmosphere of the church made them walk quietly and speak in subdued voices. There was no one in sight but a step behind them had them spinning round hopefully.

  An elderly cleric stood there, sweet-faced and very kindly in appearance. He seemed astonished to see anyone and John realised that after the morning service very few people must visit the church on Flora Day. He made a formal bow.

  “Good day to you, Sir.”

  “Good day, young man.”

  Tim Painter gave a lazy bow. “How do?” he said.

  “Have you by any chance seen a young girl, aged about seven? She has a mop of dark hair and was heading for the church when last observed.”

  “Yes,” said the vicar surprisingly. “A child answering that description was hiding in here but ran out when she saw me.”

  “How long ago was that?” This from Tim Painter.

  “About fifteen minutes or so. She can’t have got far.”

  “Thank you a thousand times,” said John. “If you don’t mind we ll go in pursuit.”

  “I’m glad I was of service. I hope to see you in church some time.”

  “Oh, you will,” the Apothecary called over his departing shoulder.

  Tim Painter, on the other hand, raised his hat but said nothing.

  Chapter 9

  They ran out and back to the Guildhall as quickly as they had come. John, panting somewhat, looked at Tim and thought to himself that the fellow was in the peak of condition, lean and fit and not in the least out of breath. Painter, aware that he was being stared at, gave the Apothecary the familiar idle smile and said, “When I get my hands on that little bitch I’ll give her a lesson she won’t forget in a hurry.”

  John slowed his pace. “You don’t like the child, do you?”

  Tim chuckled, sounding quite human. “I can’t stand her. In fact I’ve disliked her ever since I first saw her.”

  “Then why…?”

  “Money, old boy. Mrs Pill is damnable rich. Old man Pill was a wealthy merchant and when he shuffle
d off, his widow gained the lot. Now I’m quite happy to admit I am delighted to be a kept man. It seems to me that work is something to be avoided if at all possible. By the way, you surprised me today. I had no idea you were an apothecary.”

  “Really? Well I have been since I was sixteen.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That’s how old I was when I began my indentures.” John allowed a small smile to cross his features as he thought of his old Master. But Tim was continuing to talk.

  “Anyhow that wily old bird Pill left a clause in his will that means his widow loses all her money should she remarry. So I have to remain the perpetual lover, which is wretchedly tiring let me assure you.”

  John could not help but grin by the frankness with which it was all said. Then he thought of Elizabeth, of her strangely beautiful face with its ugly scar, of her strong, almost masculine, body, of the thrall she held him in, and determined to regularise their situation.

  As if reading his thoughts, Painter said, “That’s a handsome piece you’re involved with. What exactly is your relationship?”

  John gave him an amused glance. “Were close friends - that is all.”

  “All?”

  “Yes,” the Apothecary answered shortly, and let the matter drop.

  They had been searching while they spoke, going up to the top of the town until it vanished into trees and countryside. There was no sign of Isobel but undeterred, knowing that she could not be far away, they came back and searched the length of Meneage Street. The crowd had now thinned and the dancing had ceased in this particular spot. John, looking at his watch, saw that it was three o’clock and realised that the gentry folk had all gone to tea. Distantly he could hear the sound of the Cornish fiddler - as he had come to think of the man - but all was quiet elsewhere.

  “Where is the wretched girl?” Tim asked in exasperation.

  “Probably back in the bosom of her mother by now.”

  “Well I suggest we return to The Angel and have some ale. I’m sick to infirmity of looking for the child.”

  “So am I,” answered John, feeling tired and longing to sit with Elizabeth and just talk.

  They exchanged a glance and then went into the hostelry. There was no sign of the Marchesa but the three ladies, namely Mrs Legassick, Mrs Bligh, and the omnipresent Anne Anstey, were partaking of afternoon tea. They made much of the arrival of the two men, inviting them to join them. Tim Painter refused, quite abruptly John thought.

  “Thank you, but no. Mr Rawlings and I are bound for the taproom.”

  Anne Anstey made a moue and smiled widely. “How tired you gentlemen must be. Did you find little Isobel?”

  “No. Isn’t she here?” asked Tim, surprised out of his lethargy.

  “We haven’t seen her,” said Mrs Bligh.

  “God’s life. Perhaps she’s gone directly upstairs.” He turned to John. “Rawlings, old chap, go and check the situation for me. I can’t abide any more of Mrs P’s hysterics.” And with that that most handsome of creatures strode off in the direction of the bar.

  John, only too aware of Anne Anstey’s warm glances, bowed and left them equally quickly, climbing the stairs to where he knew Kathryn was lying, hopefully unconscious. The physic he had given her had been a combination of mistletoe, valerian root and vervain in equal parts. This was a well-known remedy for nervous disorders and should also have had a certain sedative effect. Hoping for the best, the Apothecary knocked extremely gently on the door.

  Somewhat to his dismay a voice immediately answered, “Come in.”

  She was sleepy, there was no doubt about that, but had not actually gone to sleep. Instead Mrs Pill lay in a darkened room, her eyes closed but for all that still conscious.

  “Isobel? Have you found her?”

  “She was in the vicinity of the church, Mrs Pill. She is perfectly safe and has not fallen into the Loe Pool.”

  Kathryn reared up in the bed, looking far from attractive. “Where is she? Is she downstairs?”

  “No, not exactly.”

  “Then where have you hidden her? What’s happening? Oh God, spare me from further misery.”

  She started to weep again and John’s hand automatically reached for the salts which he always carried about his person.

  “Mrs Pill, please don’t distress yourself. Take a deep breath from this bottle.”

  “I don’t want your horrid sniffs. Take them away. What have you done with my girl? Where have you hidden her? What game are you playing with me, Apothecary?”

  “None at all, I assure you, Madam. The fact is that Mr Painter and I must have missed her by ten minutes or so. We then searched the town high and low but I’m afraid that Isobel eluded us.”

  “So she’s still not been found?”

  “No,” John answered flatly, “I’m sorry but those are the facts.”

  Mrs Pill let out a terrible gurgle and fell back on the bed with a thud. Realising that the shock had been too great and she had fainted, the Apothecary hurried to her side.

  His medical bag was downstairs where he had left it earlier and now he ran down to retrieve it. Thankfully all the ladies had gone about their business and the parlour was empty. Snatching the bag up, John hurried back to his patient, and while she was unconscious took the opportunity of administering some more of the sedative he had given her previously. Then by holding his salts beneath her nose he brought her round once more.

  She wept quietly and the Apothecary felt so sorry for her that he put his arms round her.

  “She will come back,” he said, but even as he uttered the words he wondered to himself whether he was speaking the truth.

  Tim Painter was well away by the time John caught up with him. He had also been joined by young Nicholas Kitto, this evening looking like a sleek and happy ginger cat, wearing an emerald green suit cut by a tailor from Redruth, or so he informed the Apothecary. This particular garment enhanced his naturally red hair and freckles so that with his strangely fine features the fellow looked positively handsome.

  “Are you coming to the ball tonight?” he enquired of the other two men.

  “No, I shall remain here and see what’s what,” Tim answered, slanting his eyes.

  “I would like to go. How does one get hold of tickets?” said John.

  “From the landlord of The Angel. The ballroom is here. But hurry, it may well be sold out.”

  At that moment from the street outside there came the familiar strains of music and Elizabeth appeared bearing Rose, large-eyed, in her wake. There was the usual stirring of male disapproval but the Marchesa ignored it and walked up to the group fearlessly.

  “Gentlemen, good evening. As you can hear the dancers are returning. Tell me, did you find the child?”

  “Little beast eluded captivity once more,” answered Tim in his beautiful voice, never taking his eyes off the Marchesa, who returned look for look.

  Nicholas turned to John. “Sir, will you present me to the lady?”

  The Apothecary, feeling somewhat put out, performed the introductions, remarking as he did so how charmingly Elizabeth curtsied and how well Nicholas conducted himself while the formalities were obeyed.

  Rose, meanwhile, took refuge behind her father’s legs, staring out at all that was taking place with all-seeing eyes. John, suddenly aware of her presence, bent down to her.

  “Shall we go outside and watch the dancers, sweetheart?”

  “Yes, Papa. I would like that.”

  He straightened up and looked at Elizabeth. “Rose and I are going to see what is going on. Would you care to join us?”

  “Very much. Excuse me, gentlemen.”

  Both Nicholas and Tim made disapproving noises but accepted the Marchesa’s departure with reasonable grace. Once outside, she turned to John with a brilliant look.

  “I have bought two tickets for the ball tonight. Do you want to come or should I ask Tim Painter to accompany me?”

  “Are you serious?” John asked severely.
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br />   “Of course not. I would prefer to dance with you.”

  “Then nothing would give me greater pleasure than to be your partner.”

  Elizabeth looked business-like. “What is happening about Isobel? Had she been seen or was it just a false rumour?”

  “No, the Vicar saw her near the church. It’s the damnedest thing but the child is definitely avoiding capture.”

  “Why? Nobody is cruel to her. In fact her mother dotes on her, I would say.”

  “Yes, but Tim might be handy with his fists. He openly admits that he dislikes the child.”

  The Marchesa shook her head. “No, he hasn’t got it in him to beat anyone. He’s too indolent; too relaxed. The only thing that would arouse him from his torpor is the pursuit of a pretty woman.”

  “He is involved with Mrs Pill because she has been left a considerable amount of cash apparently.”

  “I thought it would be something like that.”

  Rose, whom they had temporarily forgotten, suddenly piped up, “Oh see the ladies. Don’t they look strange.”

  John followed the line of her pointing finger and saw Mrs Legassick, Mrs Bligh and Mrs Anstey cavorting down the street in what appeared to be an odd form of morris dance. Partnering them were the two brothers, Geoffrey and Gregory Colquite, and their cousins Eustace Sayce and Herbert Reece. What it was about the dance that was unusual the Apothecary could not possibly have said. But it seemed as if all seven of them were abandoning themselves to the music, dancing wildly and as if their very lives depended on it. Even respectable Muriel Legassick appeared to be quite worked up, her little mouth in a tight line, her eyes glistening. John smiled to himself, glad to see such a decent bunch of people enjoying themselves in so uninhibited a manner.