Death and the Black Pyramid

by Deryn Lake

  ‘Yes, I also.’

  They finished their drinks then, having collected candles, made their way upstairs. John led the way and eventually found his room high up on the third floor. It was rather cramped but it had a clean and comfortable bed in it and he took off his clothes and crawled into the sheets. Contrary to his expectations, he slept fitfully, dreaming wildly and waking at least once an hour. Checking the time by his travelling clock he saw that it grew late and still he had not achieved a proper rest. Reluctantly he got out of bed and made his way to the bedroom door, thinking of going downstairs and getting himself a glass of water. And it was while he was standing there that he heard a noise from the floor below. Slowly, and somehow stealthily, he heard a door open and close.

  Wondering why the sound should have made him so uneasy, John peered over the banisters and down the stairwell. He saw a figure – quite unrecognizable – moving swiftly along the landing, holding a candle aloft. Looking to see whether it was a man or a woman – for the figure was wearing a floor-length cloak – it vanished before he had time to come to any conclusion. John went slowly back to his room, deciding to forget the glass of water.

  He sat down on his bed, thinking. Then he concluded that perhaps it had been a secret tryst and that it was no business of his to enquire further. And it was with this thought uppermost in his mind that he finally fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

  Three

  John woke late, so late that for a second he thought he must have missed the coach. And then he recalled that his journey was over, that all that remained now was to hire a horse from a livery stable and make his way up to Elizabeth in her great house high above the river Exe.

  He got out of bed and washed in cold water, scraping a razor over his chin as best he could. Then he went downstairs and into the guests’ parlour to partake of his usual hearty fare. Somewhat to his surprise – it being a little after nine o’clock – he found that the only other person sitting there was Jemima Lovell. And on enquiring where the rest of their party were, was informed that most of them had left the inn on the final stages of their journey.

  ‘I’m afraid that I overslept,’ said John apologetically.

  ‘I too. I did not sleep well the night before. Paulina Gower snores rather and it kept me awake.’

  ‘Yes, of course. You were bundled into a room with two others. Did you have a place to yourself last night?’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ she answered.

  John, remembering the strange person wandering on the landing of the floor below his, wondered if Jemima had heard anything but did not quite have the temerity to ask her.

  ‘Tell me, where do you go from here?’ he said instead.

  ‘To Lady Sidmouth’s house, not far from the small fishing village of Sidmouth. Do you know it?’ Without waiting for his reply she plunged on, ‘I am going there to make her a hat or two and some headdresses. I am a milliner, you see.’

  ‘Isn’t that where Cuthbert Simms was off to?’

  ‘Yes. There is to be a huge assembly for her daughter’s birthday. He is to prepare them all for the dances and I am to make their headgear.’

  ‘How did he get there?’

  ‘Lady Sidmouth sent a coach this morning and like a ninny I slept through its arrival. I shall have to make my way by whatever transport I can find.’

  ‘Perhaps she will send it back for you.’

  Jemima gave a delightful smile. ‘I think not somehow. Once will be quite enough in Lady Sidmouth’s opinion.’

  ‘I see,’ said John, and did.

  They ate on in silence, the parlour almost empty except for a sprinkling of other guests who were partaking of their meal, their conversation sporadic. And then, quite distinctly from somewhere far above them, John heard a cry followed by the sudden pounding of feet.

  ‘Whatever’s that?’ asked Jemima, startled, looking in the direction of the sound.

  ‘I don’t know,’ John answered, but he half rose from his chair even while he spoke.

  The noise of commotion grew nearer and the Apothecary stood up. Excusing himself to Jemima, he hurried into the hall.

  The maid whom he had seen the night before being shouted at by William Gorringe was flying down the stairs at top speed, a jug in her hand, the contents of which was spilling out all the way down the staircase.

  ‘Oh help!’ she was shouting. ‘Oh help! Somebody help.’

  The landlord appeared from the area of the kitchen. ‘What is it, my girl?’

  ‘The gentleman in 103 . . .’ she gasped out.

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘He’s dead, Mr Tyler. Oh, Sir, it’s horrible.’

  John stepped forward. ‘I’m an apothecary. Can I be of any assistance?’

  Tyler looked him up and down. ‘Do you have a medical bag with you?’

  ‘No. I am here for social reasons. But I have one or two bottles of physic that I always carry.’

  ‘Perhaps you had better bring them.’

  ‘If the man is dead they won’t do him a lot of good,’ John replied shortly.

  They climbed the staircase in silence, ascending to the second floor, the one below John’s bedroom. The door to 103 stood ajar and the Apothecary realized with a start that it was the very door from which he had seen the mysterious cloaked figure emerge. He decided that for the moment he would keep the information to himself.

  Inside it was still dark for the curtains were drawn. Crossing to them, John pulled them back and autumn sunlight, piercingly bright, flooded the room. He heard Tyler the landlord give an exclamation behind him and, wheeling round, saw the body for the first time.

  William Gorringe lay on the bed in a sea of his own blood, a sea which had spattered onto the walls and even the ceiling. To say that he had been bludgeoned to death would have been an understatement. The man had received so many blows to the head that he was virtually unrecognizable, his face reduced to a lump of flesh, his eyes dislodged from their sockets by the severity of the beating he had sustained. Taking a deep breath John leant over the body and stared at what remained of the head.

  The brains were oozing through in a mass of grey matter, hair sticking in it just to make the scene more unpleasant. Slowly, the Apothecary let his eyes wander downwards and saw that Gorringe had several blows, including one to the knees, which were bent up slightly as if the man had been asleep when the attack began. John made a mental note to ask the landlord – who was on the landing making the most terrible retching noises – about spare keys to the rooms.

  He straightened up and crossed to the window, noticing that it was closed and that the catch had been slipped through on the inside. Staring downwards he saw that below him was the stabling yard. So it would have been possible for a man to have taken a ladder and made his way upwards and closed the window after he had come in. John’s mind turned to the figure he had seen down the landing and he fervently wished that he had had both the time and the foresight to get a better look.

  He turned once more to the body, thinking that Gorringe must have met his death at the hands of a madman or, at the very least, someone in an uncontrollable frenzy. He had a dozen or so separate wounds, the majority of which were to the upper regions. But his chest had also been viciously attacked and John wondered what implement could have been used. Possibly a heavy stick or a piece of piping. But a search of the room, albeit quick, revealed nothing. Whoever had killed William Gorringe had taken the weapon with them.

  Outside in the corridor the landlord – very whey-faced – was waiting for him. John looked grim.

  ‘We’ll have to lock this door until the Constable comes. You have a spare key?’

  ‘Yes, of course. The girl uses it in the morning when she goes in with the hot water.’

  ‘And I presume that was what she was doing earlier?’

  ‘Yes, poor soul. She walked in on that scene of carnage.’

  It was a good description, John thought. Aloud he said, ‘Where are the keys normally kept when the
y are not in use?’

  ‘They hang on hooks in the kitchen. Why?’

  ‘Because that could have been the way the murderer gained entry.’

  ‘But that would suggest some prior knowledge, wouldn’t it? They would have needed to know what room the victim was in.’

  ‘Oh undoubtedly. This is hardly the work of a stranger. More that of a long-standing enemy.’

  ‘I see.’

  They walked down the stairs in silence to see a strained-looking group awaiting them at the bottom. There was the landlord’s wife, who had her arms round the hysterical maid. There was Jemima, very pale and wide-eyed. There were one or two other guests, drawn by the terrible scream and the general commotion. They reached the bottom and John drew Jemima apart.

  ‘Do you remember that man Gorringe from the journey?’

  ‘Yes, indeed I do. He sat in the coach wrapped in his cloak and would speak to none of us.’

  ‘I’m afraid he is dead, Miss Lovell.’

  ‘But how? Did his heart give out?’

  ‘The truth is that he has been cruelly murdered. A crime of passion if ever I saw one. Have you any idea at all where the rest of the coach party have departed to?’

  Jemima slowly shook her head. ‘No, only Mr Simms who, as I told you, has gone to Lady Sidmouth’s.’

  John pulled a face. ‘I think they’ll have to be found somehow.’

  ‘Why? You don’t believe that they could be connected with the crime, do you?’

  The Apothecary looked at her. ‘It’s possible that one of them is a murderer.’

  Jemima lowered her eyes. ‘Oh dear, I hope not. They seemed such a pleasant crowd.’

  ‘That,’ answered John, ‘is often the way.’

  Two hours later he was free to leave the inn. The Constable had been; a lean blackbird of a fellow and a professional, in that he was hired by those whose turn it was to act as peacekeeper and had been in the position for some six years. Taciturn and dour, for all that John took to the man, for he clearly knew what he was doing and had organized everything very swiftly. William Gorringe had been removed from the room and dispatched to the mortuary awaiting the Coroner’s verdict. The Apothecary had furnished the Constable with a list of names of the other travellers on the coach, told him of the strange cloaked figure he had seen, and the remaining guests in the inn had all been asked to give their particulars.

  ‘Trouble is, Sir,’ said the Constable, scratching his closely shaved chin and looking at John with a black-eyed glance, ‘that it could have been a common thief. We’ve no proof that it was anyone that the victim knew.’

  ‘Except that there were no signs of anything having been taken. Admittedly I didn’t search the body but I did notice that the dead man wore a diamond ring upon his little finger and that it was still there this morning. Further, the room was left neatly and is it not the trademark of a robber that he always pulls the place apart?’

  The dark eyes gleamed. ‘You seem to know a lot about it if I might say so.’

  John looked worldly. ‘Merely facts that one picks up from reading the journals, don’t you know.’

  And now, having given the Constable both his London address and the address of the Marchesa – a fact which had left a good impression John could tell – he was off at last to see the woman who still held him in her thrall. Leaving the inn, the Apothecary walked to the nearest livery stable where he hired a large, sensible-looking grey horse – his experience with hired horses being none too favourable – and set off to ride out of Exeter. Before he had gone he had seen Jemima Lovell into a small trap that was making for Sidmouth and had negotiated the fee for taking her the extra miles to Lady Sidmouth’s mansion. She said farewell with a sorrowful look in her brilliant eyes.

  ‘Goodbye, Mr Rawlings. How sad that our journey should have ended so horribly.’

  ‘Au revoir, Miss Lovell. Try not to think about it too much.’

  ‘I’ll do my best, Sir.’ And giving his hand a squeeze, she had disappeared down the length of the High Street.

  John, having been given a leg-up onto the grey horse, spoke to it as they rode out of the town.

  ‘Now, my friend, I want a nice easy ride, do you understand. No funny tricks or rearing up. Just take me at a reasonable pace to Lady Elizabeth’s and you shall be rewarded with a nice loose box and a bag of hay.’

  The horse twitched its ears and plodded forward, leaving the city behind and following the line of the river Exe. John decided to go along the riverbank, which was pleasant in the September sunshine, but when it came to the high hill on the top of which Elizabeth’s beautiful house was situated the horse refused to budge a step. In the end the Apothecary was forced to dismount and lead the beast upwards by its reins, puffing and panting as he did so. By the time he reached the lodge gates he was thoroughly out of breath and dishevelled into the bargain. Glad that he hadn’t worn a wig and that his hair was tied back in a queue, John mopped his face.

  The lodge keeper was new and looked at him with a certain suspicion. ‘Can I help you, Sir?’

  ‘I have come to see Lady Elizabeth di Lorenzi.’

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  ‘No, not exactly. She wrote and asked me to visit. I am an old friend.’

  ‘I see. Well if you go up to the big house you can enquire there whether she is in.’

  ‘Thank you,’ John answered crisply, and feeling that he had done his duty by the horse, remounted and urged it up the curving, uphill drive.

  As he rode the last few yards, the house now in sight, his throat went dry and he felt as nervous as a schoolboy. The last time he had been there had been in the spring of this year and Elizabeth had not been at home, gone to Bath for the sake of her health, or so he had been informed. He had taken that as her way of telling him that she had no further wish to see him. He recalled the time he had proposed to her and how she had turned to look at him, her long black hair blowing about her face. He also remembered her refusal, saying she preferred a life alone even though she was fond of him. She could hurt him, there was no doubting that. And yet out of a clear blue sky she had written to him, asking him to come to her, informing him that she had something of interest to tell him. Wondering what on earth it could be, John dismounted at the front door and handing the horse over to an hostler, mounted the six steps which led up to it.

  A footman answered the bell and fortunately recognized John from the past.

  ‘Ah, Mr Rawlings, Sir. Is my lady expecting you?’

  ‘Yes and no. She wrote and asked me to visit her and here I am. But I didn’t inform her of the date of my arrival.’

  ‘I see. Would you like to wait in the parlour and I will see if she is at home.’

  John stepped into the vast reception hall and gazed upwards. There, painted high above his head, was a representation of Britannia waving a spear. Smiling indulgently he traversed the large space, following the footman, and was shown into a small parlour leading off the Blue Drawing-room. His mind wandered over the difference in their stations in life. She had been born a daughter of the nobility, he the bastard child of one of the Rawlings family of Twickenham. She had married an Italian nobleman and had lived a wild and dangerous life. He had qualified as an apothecary and had found his excitement through working with Sir John Fielding. At that moment John realized with a horrible clarity that he could never offer Elizabeth the life to which she had been used and that he may as well leave now.

  There was a noise in the doorway and John, turning, saw that the woman who filled his thoughts was standing there. He rose and bowed.

  ‘Madam.’

  She walked towards him, smiling her delicious smile. ‘Sir,’ she replied.

  And then John looked at her properly and his heart plummeted before it rose again and started to beat wildly in his chest.

  She laughed then, throwing her head back and chuckling.

  ‘Don’t look so shocked,’ she said. ‘As you can see, my dear, I am quite definitely wit
h child.’

  Four

  John stood gaping at her, hardly able to take in what Elizabeth had just said to him. Then he realized several things simultaneously. Firstly that judging by the stage of her pregnancy – probably about four months in his professional opinion – he was undoubtedly the father. Secondly that she was dangerously old to be carrying a child. And thirdly, and most happily, that this event would surely draw them closer together once more. He cleared his throat and spoke.

  ‘Elizabeth, my dear. I had no idea. Why did you not tell me before?’

  She gave a careless laugh and sat down, motioning him to do likewise. ‘I did not want to bother you with it.’

  He leant across the distance between them and took her hand. ‘That was wrong of you. It is my child as well. You should have written straight away.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t. In fact it went through my head to say nothing until after the birth. But then I thought how upset you would be and I changed my mind.’

  ‘And thank God you did,’ John answered fervently. He knelt down in front of her. ‘My darling, is there anything I can do to help?’

  She burst out laughing and he saw then that the forthcoming child had not changed her at all, that she was still as wild and free as she had always been.

  ‘I think you’ve done that already, my friend,’ she said, and laid a careless hand on her rounding.

  John decided to match her mood. ‘And very pleasurable it was too,’ he said, and gave his lopsided grin.

  She changed the subject. ‘What time is it?’

  John looked at his watch. ‘Just gone three o’clock.’

  ‘Then we shall have an early dinner. And now if you would be so good as to escort me I should like to walk in the gardens. I have forbidden myself riding – though only temporarily, I might add – so walking is my only form of exercise.’

  He stood up, brushing at his knees, thinking to himself that she really was the most extraordinary woman he had ever met. Where the majority of her sex would be moaning and grumbling over an unwanted pregnancy she was treating the whole thing with immense sang froid. As they walked together out into the formally laid-out grounds with stunning views as far as the eye could see, he decided to challenge her. Leaning close to her he asked a question.