Death and the Cornish Fiddler

by Deryn Lake

  “There, there, sweetheart. There’s no need to be afraid. I’m here.”

  “But it was so horrid, Father.”

  “What was, darling?”

  “My door opened and a woman stood there. And… Oh, Papa.” Rose wept again.

  “What, dearest? What did she do?”

  “She beckoned for me to go with her but I was too afraid and I told her to go away.”

  “What happened then?”

  “She just laughed and said that she would be back. And…”

  “Yes?”

  “That she would take me to join Isobel.”

  Chapter 28

  That night the Apothecary slept badly, dreaming vivid dreams of Emilia in which she begged him to take care of her child. Waking up in a sweat, seeing from his travelling carriage clock that it was two in the morning, he gazed to where Rose slept peacefully. He had moved himself into her room after she had told him the story of the old woman who had beckoned her, certain — though he had said nothing to the child herself — that the female had been a member of that ghastly coven of witches. Then, during the night, a terrible thought had occurred to him. If one supposed that they were into human sacrifice, could that have been the fate of Isobel Pill? Had she, after all, met her end on some unconsecrated altar and her defenceless body been disposed of afterwards? It was a hideous idea and yet the more John considered it the more sense it made.

  He sat bolt upright in his makeshift bed, perspiration starting out all over his body, his hand reaching for a glass of water. A shaft of moonlight was shining in through the curtains, which had not been properly drawn, and getting out of bed the Apothecary silently crossed to the window and looked out. Helstone slept, apparently at rest, yet John was more than aware that beneath its blameless facade there currently dwelt a band of people with evil in their hearts. Looking back over his shoulder he saw that his child still slumbered, and at that moment determined that he would never leave her alone again until he had departed from that Cornish town for ever.

  Which shouldn’t be long, he thought to himself. In fact he had only one task remaining before he and Rose could return to Devon. And this idea set him thinking about Elizabeth and the hopelessness of his situation with her. What had started out as a powerful attraction was clearly doomed to end in disaster. In fact at that moment of bleakness the Apothecary could imagine no future with her at all. He sighed quietly andturned to go back to bed. But just as he did so something moved in the street below and, turning back to the window, he gave it his full attention.

  It was a strange figure dressed in a long concealing garment which hid the fact whether it be male or female. Yet, despite this, John had the distinct impression that he was regarding a woman. She stood motionless, gazing at The Angel, not moving at all as she stared. Seized with the idea that it was she who had earlier beckoned to Rose, the Apothecary threw a cloak over his nightshirt and sped downstairs. Grappling with the heavy bolts on the front door took him some time but eventually he got it open and gazed out on Coinage Hall Street. She or he had gone, and though he stepped outside and looked round the place there was no sign of the stranger. Shivering, despite the warmth of the night, John Rawlings returned to bed.

  True to his word he stayed by Rose’s side next day except when she went to the water closet. But even then he remained outside the door until he heard the crank of the plunger, when he pushed the partition open and his child was restored to him. Privately he thought it quite marvellous that a remote inn like The Angel should have had such a thing installed, it not being his experience in other places in which he had stayed.

  Having finished an early breakfast John decided to take his daughter for a walk before the one item of business left to him. In the street, she turned to look at him as they left The Angel and headed up the town.

  “Papa, have you much left to do here?”

  “Only one thing,” he answered, taking her hand and holding it fast.

  “Will it take long?”

  “No, I shall do it this morning and then we will leave tomorrow.”

  “Shall we catch the stagecoach?”

  “Yes, my darling. We will cram in with the rest of the passengers.”

  “I look forward to that.”

  “We can catch it to Truro and from there make our way to Devon.”

  “We are going to say goodbye to Mrs Elizabeth, aren’t we?”

  “Of course we are, sweetheart. But after that we must return to London and resume our old life.”

  “I want to see Grandpapa again.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “Very much indeed,” and Rose tightened her grip on the Apothecary’s hand and gave him a look of such sincerity that he felt the tears sting his eyes.

  They walked in silence for a while and then John’s daughter said, “Oh look, Papa. Here come Mr Sayce and Mrs Anstey.”

  And there to the Apothecary’s utter amazement came two members of the coven, strolling along as if they hadn’t a care in the world. But then, he realised, nobody was aware of their secret other life, nobody except Tim Painter and himself. He decided to behave as if he knew nothing.

  “Mrs Anstey, Mr Sayce,” he said, and swept off his hat. Beside him he felt Rose give a small curtsey as she had been taught.

  Today the older man looked decidedly deflated, John thought, though the woman stared at the Apothecary as lecherously as ever.

  “Mr Rawlings, we were just talking about you.” And Anne ran her oddly small tongue over her lips in a manner that John could only think of as obscene.

  “Really? What were you saying?”

  “That we hadn’t seen you since that night in Redruth when we played cards.”

  “I have been quite busy,” he answered, dropping his eyes.

  He found it hard to return Anne Anstey’s gaze which, though strangely cold, had still an unpleasant fire in its depth. He recalled her lying stark naked on the altar, coupling with a Colquite and had to control himself not to shudder visibly. But despite his efforts he must have made some movement because he felt Rose glance up at him questioningly.

  “Hello, my dear. How pretty you look today.” Mrs Anstey was speaking to his daughter.

  “Thank you.” And the child curtseyed again.

  It was at that moment that the Apothecary caught Sayce’s eye and, briefly, the expression within. To say that the man looked strained would have been an understatement. There was genuine fear in his glance. John could not help but notice that the older man’s lips were forming soundless words.

  Anne bent down and picked up one of Rose’s rich red curls. “Beautiful,” she crooned. “You have such beautiful hair, sweetheart.”

  The child pulled back against John’s legs. “Thank you,” she whispered again, but the Apothecary could tell that she was genuinely frightened.

  He bowed abruptly. “I’m sorry. I have an urgent appointment. Come Rose.” And replacing his hat, he hurried up the road.

  “I didn’t like it when the woman touched my hair,” the child said quietly.

  “It wasn’t she who came to your room, was it?”

  “No, Papa, it was somebody much thinner and older.”

  “I wonder,” he said to himself, as into his brain came a picture of the unappealing features of Mrs Legassick.

  Returning to The Angel, he discovered the coaches in which Mrs Pill had arrived drawn up outside. Now he knew that he had little time. His problem was going to be what to do with Rose, for what he had to say was not suitable for her ears. Eventually he found the thumb-sucking fat maid and asked her if Rose could stay with her for half an hour. On the production of a coin the girl rapidly agreed.

  “You are not to leave her alone, you understand?”

  “Oh, I won’t, Sir. I promise.”

  “Not even for a second.”

  “No, Sir.”

  He went downstairs and eventually found Tim Painter taking his ease in the parlour.

  “Aren’t you leaving?” John as
ked in some surprise.

  “No,” Tim answered lazily. “Thought I’d stay and give what assistance I could to hunting down these wretched witchcraft people. I mean to say, one can’t have this sort of thing going on in decent society.”

  If he had not been about such serious business, John would have laughed uproariously. How a reprobate such as Tim could have the bare-faced gall to sit and pontificate about moral standards was almost beyond him. As it was he grinned broadly.

  “Glad you’ll be with us,” he said.

  “Think nothing of it, dear boy.” And Tim flapped a languid hand.

  “Have you told Mrs Pill?” asked John.

  “Yes. I said I would follow on later.”

  “And how did she take that?”

  “Not well, not well. However the wretched Jasper came to the rescue and said it would be a much easier journey without me. For once I was totally in agreement with him.”

  The Apothecary shook his head. “Why do you really want to stay?”

  Tim shifted in his seat. “I don’t know exactly. I think it was the thought that I might, at last, be of some help. Which reminds me, why did you really call us all together last night?” John’s face remained impassive. “Because I would have present the four men who visited Diana Warwick on that fatal night. I wanted to run through the sequences of events with you all for the last time. But it’s too late for that now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll explain later.” The Apothecary stood up. “Do you know where I will find Mrs Pill and Jasper?”

  “They’re in the hall somewhere, I think. But you’d better hurry. They’ll be leaving shortly.”

  “Thank you.”

  They were indeed getting ready for departure, though Mrs Pill, looking terribly white and thin, had taken a seat in a snug, leaving Jasper to organise the servants getting the trunks onto the two carriages. Catching her alone, John sat down beside her.

  “So you’re departing from us, Madam.”

  “Yes,” she said, and her voice sounded broken and fragile. “I realise there is no hope for my poor Isobel. So I am taking my leave of this accursed place.”

  John nodded. “I quite understand how you feel. Helstone can hold nothing but unhappy memories for you.”

  She lowered her head, staring into her lap. “I shall think of it as the town in which my heart was broken.”

  “And not just because of Isobel,” he said quietly.

  She looked up and just for a second he peered into those small, sad eyes, today partly hidden by a pair of spectacles. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I think perhaps you know.”

  “I don’t understand what you are talking about.”

  “I speak of the death of Diana Warwick,” he said, still in that calm, quiet voice.

  “What about it?”

  Leaning over, John took one of her thin-fingered hands in his. “Why don’t you tell me what happened? It would be much easier if you did.”

  She stared at him and he saw her try to control herself, and fail.

  “You know, don’t you,” she said at last. “How long have you known?”

  “Not long,” he answered truthfully. “It only came to me recently in fact.”

  She started to tremble, resembling nothing so much as some poor small creature out in the cold. John started to pat her hand.

  “I think I had the first intimation when Tim Painter said that Diana suddenly looked at the door then afterwards hurried him away as soon as possible. Yet I knew she was alive when Lord Godolphin called on her, but was dead by the time the Gaffer went to visit. That suggested to me that somebody opened the door while she was in flagrente with Tim and she saw that person look into the room with an expression of pure horror. Horror, perhaps, mixed with something else.”

  “Oh yes, I looked on her with hatred,” Kathryn said quietly. “After all, Tim was the only man I have ever really loved.”

  And she was taking him away from you.”

  “How could she have been so cruel? Yet her beauty was such that men followed her wherever she went. But when all was said and done she was just a common whore.”

  “So you went in later - after his lordship had left - and put a pillow over her face.”

  “Yes.” The shrivelled, white visage turned to the Apothecary and he saw for the first time that she was slightly unbalanced. And shall I tell you something, Mr Rawlings? I enjoyed smothering the life out of her. Enjoyed seeing the end of her dangerous, fatal beauty.” Slowly she got to her feet, removed her hand from his grasp and held it out to him. “Goodbye to you, Sir, it has been most pleasant knowing you. Perhaps we will meet again somewhere.” Then she walked past him and made her way out of the front door.

  Just for a moment John sat motionless, then he sprang to his feet and ran after her. But he was too late. Mrs Pill had taken possession of the front carriage waiting outside the inn. Climbing up onto the vacant coachman’s box she had whipped up the horses and gone clattering down the street towards the open countryside at the bottom. John stood staring after her, in company with Jasper, her brother. The bird had clearly flown.

  Chapter 29

  For a second John and Jasper stood staring as the coach disappeared down Coinage Hall Street. Then together, just as if they had rehearsed the move, they leapt into the second conveyance, shouting to the driver, who was already in place, to pursue at all speed. He shot forward so quickly that the pair was obliged to cling onto the upholstery in order not to end up on the floor. Ahead of them they saw Kathryn’s coach career wildly into the fields that lay beyond the town, heading in the direction of Loe Pool. Even as he saw it, the Apothecary had a terrible premonition of the thought that might be in her mind.

  They followed into the meadowlands which grew progressively more boggy as the coach moved forward. Eventually the wheels ground to a halt, arrested in the marshy terrain. Ahead of them, a much lighter weight than that of the two men, Mrs Pill’s conveyance lurched its dangerous path onward. John, descending as best he could, started to run behind it but realised the futility. Despite the fact that it was of necessity travelling slowly, he still found it hard to keep up. Behind him he heard Jasper clambering down.

  “What shall we do, Rawlings?”

  “We must go in pursuit. She won’t be able to drive much further.”

  “Come on then.”

  They hurried forward but their way and also their line of sight was barred by trees. Occasionally, though, the woodland cleared and they could see Mrs Pill’s abandoned coach standing somewhat forlornly on the edge of the lake.

  Jasper turned to John. “Oh my God! You don’t think she…”

  But the Apothecary didn’t answer, resolutely pushing his way forwards. He came out of the trees and rushed to the lakeside. And there, floating on the surface, was a sad dark shape. Without hesitation John kicked off his shoes, tore off his jacket and dived in, to be followed a minute later by Jasper,who reached Kathryn first and hauled her to the shore.

  Dripping wet, John did everything in his power to restore life; turning her on her face and pumping her back, waiting for her to cough up water. But it was to no avail.

  Looking down into her plain, pale face, the Apothecary thought that she had endured a wasted life culminating in two terrible acts of violence, one brought about by a kind of desperate jealousy, the other to end the suffering which she must have been subjected to since losing both Isobel and Tim Painter. For surely that is how she must have seen his betrayal of her in the bedroom that night, as a total loss of loyalty. Yet surely, John considered, still gazing at her, she must have known what she was taking on in Tim. That was most certainly not the first time he had been unfaithful to her but - and this idea struck him with some force — it was destined to be the last. Then he remembered Anne Anstey in Redruth and he stopped his mind going down that path of deceit and concentrated on the present.

  Jasper had lifted the inert body up in his arms and was openly weeping.<
br />
  “Why did she do it, Rawlings? She was my sister. We spent all our time together until she married Hubert Pill. Oh God, my poor little Kathryn.”

  “She did it because she had lost Isobel, Jasper. The child meant everything to her,” John lied.

  “I know that. But I thought she was starting to recover. Felt sure that with time and patience I could coax her back into a normal life.”

  John looked at him, thought of all that had happened and knew that he was utterly right to remain silent about the actual reason for Kathryn’s death. To Jasper he said, “Come on, my friend. We must carry her body back to Helstone. I’ll drive her coach. The coachman can bring back the other.”

  So they set off in dismal procession, manoeuvring the coaches with care through the unfriendly undergrowth until at last, and after a great deal of effort, they found their way to

  Coinage Hall Street. Here they parted company; John to find Tim Painter, Jasper to go to the undertakers to arrange for Kathryn’s body to be coffined up before he took it home to Wiltshire.

  It was in a very sombre mood that the Apothecary, having drawn a blank in the taproom of The Angel, made his way to The Blue Anchor, feeling certain that he would find the extraordinary character that made up Painter in the hostelry chattering to his crowd of cohorts. As he walked down the street he had been mulling over whether to tell Tim all the facts and was still not certain as he went through the front door and saw him, seated at a table, regaling some gullible individual with how he had been promoted to Constable’s assistant. John sighed heavily and took a seat beside him.

  “How do, John my friend? How goes it with you since this morning?”

  “Not well, I’m afraid.”

  “Really? What’s up?”

  “I would rather discuss that in private.”

  “Oh. Oh, I see.” Tim leant across the table to his crony. “Would you mind, old boy? Got some confidential business to talk about.”

  The cohort, having given John rather a dark look, shambled off to a corner where he disconsolately supped his ale.