by Deryn Lake
But even as he asked the question the Apothecary knew the answer. Into his pictorial memory came a vision of Sayce’s frantic expression when last they had spoken. He had been aware of what was planned and he had not approved.
“It was Sayce,” he continued. “I’m certain of it.”
“Then we must find him fast,” answered Trethowan. “Maybe he holds the key to the entire mystery.”
As they talked they had been proceeding down Church Street and now found themselves in front of Nick Kitto’s house.
“No use knocking here.”
“I think we should, William. Nick can help us search.”
“Very well.” Trethowan applied his great hand to the knocker and the door was answered a few minutes later by the aged servant. “We’re making enquiries about a missing child. May we see your mistress if you please.”
“She’s gone to bed. Constable. But Master Nick is still up.” And even as he said the words Nicholas strode into the hall. Seeing the Apothecary and his companion, he stopped short.
He opened his mouth to speak but John forestalled him.
“Listen, Nick, we need your help, and urgently at that. My daughter, Rose, has been abducted, we think by the coven of witches who infest this place from time to time. Every able- bodied man has been summoned to search for her. The Constable and I are going from house to house to try and find where the coven are staying. Please can you assist us?”
“Of course. Have you told my…the Vicar?”
“No, do you think we should?”
“Most certainly. You go on knocking down the street and I’ll run to the vicarage.”
“I think most of the people who have houses close to the church are God-fearing folk,” put in the Constable.
“You never know,” Nick answered cryptically, and pulling on a cloak vanished into the night.
Half an hour later, when every dwelling in Church Street had been called upon, the Constable decided that it was too late to go knocking people up and said he would continue in the morning.
“We’d best go and join the search party,” he said.
John did not answer, indeed his lips had almost ceased to work. He was in a state bordering on hysteria, so full of tension that the slightest thing made him jump. First thing this morning he had witnessed Kathryn’s terrible suicide. This followed by an evening unlike any other he could remember. His nervousness at Loe Pool had been heightened by the discovery of Lord Lyle’s body, alone in that deserted house. Then to return to learn of Rose’s abduction had been almost too much to bear. All the misery and pain that Emilia’s death had brought him now returned, only this time it was doubled. He felt that his life had reached a turning point from which there was no escape. He knew that if he could not rescue his daughter he would retreat from the world, experiment with his herbs, become something of a recluse. Oh God, let me find her, he prayed.
As they walked back to The Angel they were joined by Nick and the Reverend Robinson, the latter wearing a purposeful expression and bearing a large crucifix about his neck.
“This demonic gang must be broken up once and for all,” he announced.
“I think they may be already moving on,” John answered, and told the newcomers of his discovery of Lord Lyle’s body in the empty house.
The reverend gentleman turned immediately to Nick. “I must go up there at first light and conduct a Christian ceremony within the house. It is my duty to do so.”
“I’ll go with you, Sir. Indeed I could not allow you to venture there unattended.”
Mr Robinson gave him a grateful glance. “Thank you, my son,” he answered.
The Constable interceded. “I cannot permit anyone to enter the place until the body has been removed. And that will have to wait till morning now. Indeed, Mr Rawlings…” He turned to John, “…it is getting almost too dark to search.”
“The rest of you can stop. I intend to continue all night.”
“And I’ll help you,” Kitto answered immediately.
The rest of the searchers were called off until daylight but throughout the dark hours John continued with a type of insane eagerness. With Nicholas Kitto working alongside him they peered into every conceivable nook and cranny, every bit of broken wall, every outbuilding, every pigsty, up and down every street, in fact they searched everywhere but inside people’s private residences.
As dawn came up, Nick turned to look at John and saw that during the night tears had run down the Apothecary’s face making little pale rivulets through the dirt and grime ingrained there.
“Be of brave heart, my friend,” he said. “Soon the Constable will start searching houses again and then Rose will be found, I feel certain of it.”
It was then that John realised that this new event was just what young Kitto had been looking for, something entirely different to get his mind off the murder of Diana Warwick. Almost as if he could read his thoughts, Nick spoke.
“That night you got us all together, the night we played cards and were interrupted by the ritual at Lord Lyle’s house, what did you want with us?”
“Just to check the times you saw Miss Warwick.”
“I see,” Nick answered quietly. He looked at the ground and when he looked up again his eyes were full of questions. “Tell me, did you ever discover who murdered her?”
“Yes,” John answered.
“And which one of us was it?”
“Mrs Pill killed herself this morning. Did you know?”
“Yes, the servants were gossiping about it. But what has that…” And then suddenly Nick understood and turned a terrible face in the Apothecary’s direction. “Oh God’s holy life, don’t tell me she was responsible?”
John nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“Jealousy,” stated Nick bitterly. “What a poisoned worm it is, to be sure.”
“Yet have you not suffered from it as have I?”
Nicholas sighed deeply. “I am a true offender. I was even jealous of my own father,” he added more quietly.
“Of Lord Godolphin?” John asked, wondering how this was going to be received.
Nick stared at him blankly. “Lord Godolphin?” he repeated. “Yes.”
The younger man burst out laughing, so loudly that the sound seemed to echo round the sleeping town and out to the distant hills.
“He’s not my father,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Whatever made you think so?”
“I just imagined…” John answered feebly.
“Well, you were wrong. My father is the Vicar. Mr Robinson.”
The Apothecary thought that if he hadn’t felt so wretched, so down, so utterly hopeless, he would have joined in the laughter at his own idiocy. But instead he just felt a complete fool, a numbskull, a jumper-to-conclusions. He sat down suddenly on the kerbstone with all the stuffing knocked out of him. Nick crouched down beside him.
“I’m sorry to shock you like that. I was conceived when he was still a curate, you see. It was my mother who wouldn’t marry him. At the time she was very pretty and she had her heart set on someone else. It’s almost impossible to believe when you see her now, but those are the facts.”
At that John wept, where normally he would have just seen the silly side of the explanation. He had never felt so weak or so miserable in his life. The thought that Emilia and now Rose had been taken from him was almost too much to bear.
“Come on, old chap,” said Nick quietly. “Let’s go back to The Angel for a while. We have searched everywhere possible at night and we can start again in an hour or so. You need some food meanwhile.”
And suddenly it was so comforting to be led back to the inn and put to sit down in a parlour while Nick Kitto, enjoying his role as a consoler, went off in search of breakfast despite the earliness of the hour.
Chapter 31
Unable to eat a thing, John consumed several cups of tea and then his eyes closed and he fell asleep, his head rolling backwards, his mouth open. But it was not long before he felt a hand on h
is shoulder and, returning to consciousness, instantly knew that something was wrong. Just for a minute he struggled to remember what it was then the truth came vividly to mind and he jumped to his feet.
“What time is it? How long have I slept?”
The craggy face of William Trethowan appeared. “It’s five o’clock, Sir. Daylight. Time you went searching again, that is if you feel up to it.”
“Of course I do. I must find my daughter.”
“Right, Sir. Then I suggest you try Meneage Street. I’m afraid that I have a grisly duty up at the Loe Pool house.”
For no reason that he could possibly describe, the Apothecary was reluctant to go into town, preferring to do the kind of searching that he and Nick Kitto had carried out during the night.
“If you’ll forgive me I think I would rather look round the place than go from door to door.”
“But, Sir, only you know who these children of Satan actually are. Apart from Sayce and Mrs Anstey I couldn’t possibly identify them.”
There was undeniable logic in this but John immediately saw the weakness in the argument.
“But I have no authority to search people’s houses.”
“I will send a deputy constable with you. He will have the necessary credentials.”
Yet again John had the feeling that he would rather stay in the locality. “Then let him go alone.”
“You’re not thinking, Sir. He will have even less idea of the identities of these accursed people than I have.”
The Apothecary bowed to fate. “Very well. I’ll go.”
At that moment who should walk in but Tim Painter,dressed in black but other than for that bearing no outward signs of mourning. Indeed he was grinning quite cheerfully.
“Good day,” he said, taking in the assembled company and giving a small bow.
“You’re up early, Sir,” commented the Constable.
“I’m catching the stage to Truro so I thought I’d make a reasonable start.”
“Tim,” said John urgently. “I was wondering if you could help me. My daughter has gone missing - abducted I fear - and I was hoping that you might join the search party.”
Painter looked thoughtful. “It would mean delaying my departure.”
“Perhaps you would consider it.”
“My dear friend, for you of course. Anything. Don’t give it another thought.” He turned to the Constable. “Now, my good fellow, what would you like me to do?”
“Perhaps you would care to accompany Mr Rawlings and my deputy in the search for members of the coven.”
“So they are involved,” said Tim knowingly. “I might have guessed.”
John drained his cold tea cup, then turned to Nick. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. I shall always be grateful to you.”
Nick eyed Tim disdainfully. “I don’t feel like leaving now. Do you mind if I continue to search?”
“By all means,” said the Constable, taking charge. “Perhaps you and the other men would like to retrace your steps of last night.”
They set off about their various tasks, Tim strolling along in sprightly fashion beside John, who now had lack of sleep to add to his other torments.
Dropping behind the deputy constable, a short, bull-headed man called Pascoe, John whispered urgently, “I wanted to search with the others, not go house to house.”
Tim stopped walking and John did likewise. “Do you think she is still alive?”
“I can’t be sure. I’ve always been so close to Rose, ever since she was born. I feel that somehow - if she is alive, that is - she would try and contact me.”
“But how can she? You don’t know where she is.”
“I mean some mental kind of message. I can’t explain further.”
But at that moment John saw Tim quiver, then he seized the Apothecary by the arm. “Look, there’s Sayce going for an early stroll.”
Despite the fact that his body ached with tiredness, John broke into a run. “Sayce,” he called out. “Stop! I want a word with you.”
Sayce glanced over his shoulder, and John had a vision of that melon-faced man looking thoroughly frightened. Then as best he could, the heavily built fellow broke into a lumbering run. Like two greyhounds John and Tim pursued him and, a second later, they heard the solid tread of Pascoe as he, too, joined in.
“Stop!” shouted John once more.
But they were gaining on him and at the Guildhall Sayce ran out of breath and came to a gasping halt, leaning against the wall. Instantly the Apothecary was on him, shaking him like rat.
“You bastard,” he hissed. “You sent me that letter, didn’t you. Where is she? What have you done with her?”
“Now then, Sir…” started Pascoe.
But the Apothecary ignored him, squeezing Sayce’s throat until his eyes began to bulge. Vaguely aware that Tim Painter was trying to loose his hold, John knew that if the man refused to answer him he would kill him.
“Let him go, Sir. He can’t speak while you’ve got him in that stranglehold.”
And Pascoe also started to beat John over the wrists, none too gently. Eventually the truth of what was being said began to dawn on him and John loosed his grip suddenly and leant against the Guildhall wall, panting.
“Now, Mr Sayce, you must make a statement,” said Pascoe firmly.
“Yes, you dogface. What have you done to Rose?”
Gasping for breath, Sayce spoke over damaged tonsils. “I knew they were after her. I did my best and wrote warning you, Sir. You have me to thank for that.”
John flew at him again. “How dare you try and justify yourself to me. You beastly old prick. If you have damaged her you shall pay for it. I’m telling you.”
Tim Painter spoke up. “John, let him be. He can’t speak when you’re shaking him like that.”
Reluctantly the Apothecary released his hold and Sayce, under the belligerent eye of the deputy, began to blurt out his story.
“The coven like to make a sacrifice occasionally. That’s what was planned for Isobel Pill but somehow the child managed to elude us. Heaven knows where she is.”
“Speak not of heaven,” John murmured deep.
“Anyway, their eye fell on your Rose. But I learned of their plan and could not tolerate such a thing going on. That’s why I wrote to you, Sir. I wanted no evil to befall the child.”
“Where is she? What has happened to her?”
John would have rushed at the fellow a third time but was restrained by Tim.
“Sir, I cannot help you. I do not know the answer. If I did I would swear by all I hold dear that I would tell you. But the coven no longer trust me and told me nothing. And now, Sir, I am going to church to pray for forgiveness. I believe that I am a lost sheep that can return to the fold and that God will find it in His heart to receive me back and forgive me for all my wickedness.”
The three men stared at his retreating form as he panted up the street towards St Michael’s.
“Can’t you arrest him?” Tim asked Pascoe.
“Not really, Sir. After all, he did his best to save Miss Rawlings. Of what does he stand accused other than beinga repentant member of a coven?”
“Of being a foolish old cock-brain, that’s all,” Tim put in.
John turned to the other two. “Listen, Tim knows who the coven members are. Let him go with you, Pascoe. I feel I must see what the other searchers have come up with.”
“Very well, Sir.”
John ran back to The Angel, the sweat lively on his face. As he ran he found himself saying words inside his head.
“Rose, can you hear me? Just give me a sign that you are alive, sweetheart, and I swear I will find you.”
And clear as a stream as he entered the doors of the inn, he heard - though only in his mind - Rose’s voice say, “Help me, Papa.”
There was no one around, everyone had gone out searching and John was quite alone. “Mrs King,” he called out - but nobody came.
“Oh Rose, if only I knew whe
re you were,” he muttered, as if by saying her name he could conjure her up.
And then of their own volition his feet turned to the yard lying beside the hostelry and he was out there and looking round him. An hostler worked in the deep confines of the stable block, mucking out and laying fresh straw. An unusual white dog lay asleep in the morning sun, ignoring the hens who wandered about it pecking at seeds. It was a calm scene, quiet and peaceful, and yet John was in turmoil.
“Where are you?” he said silently.
And then, suddenly, he knew. Sprinting to the well that stood there, the well that supplied water for the inn, he gazed down into its inky depths. One of the buckets had been lowered on the rope which, he noticed, had fractured, so that only one pail was in use. It hung nearby, idle and unused.
“Rose,” he called, leaning over the wall and cupping his hands. “Rose, are you down there?”
He heard nothing but inside his head her voice said, “Yes.”
His heart leapt wildly. “Be steady, darling. I’ll find someone to help. You stay exactly where you are.”
He turned round desperately and then, to his amazement, he saw Gideon come into the yard carrying the monkey. John hurried to him.
“Gideon, my daughter is down the well but the rope of her bucket has broken and I can’t bring her up. What am I going to do?”
The tambourine player stared at him. “I don’t know, Sir. Nobody would dare climb down. It’s so deep.”
“The monkey might go if we lowered him in the other pail,” John said slowly.
“He might at that.”
“But how will he know to carry up the broken rope?”
“If your little maid were to tie it on him. He won’t be able to do it otherwise.”
“Please let’s try. Otherwise I’ll have to be lowered down myself.”
“You would never succeed, Sir. You’re too big - as are we all.” John leant over the well’s side and shouted, “We’re going to lower Wilkes in the other bucket. You’re to tie the broken rope on to his coat. Do you understand, my darling?”
Yet again, in his head, he heard the word, “Yes.”
With Gideon standing beside him they placed Wilkes in the pail and started to turn the ancient handle and slowly, slowly lowered the wretched animal into the terrifying darkness. All the while John kept staring into the black circle of the well whose bottomless depths rose and fell in accordance with the weather.
