Death and the Black Pyramid

by Deryn Lake

  The fight opened with a flurry of blows to the black man’s head, all of which he seemed to shake off as if a fly was buzzing round him. He stretched out his magnificent long arms and landed several buffets to McAra’s body which, John imagined, must have hurt tremendously. And so it went on. The two men straining and crunching their naked, bony fists into the body of the other, protecting their heads but unable to avoid the hits that were coming towards them.

  It seemed to the Apothecary that McAra was getting the worst of it, for though he admittedly had a cruel punch he was getting more and more out of breath and was sweating profusely.

  The Black Pyramid glistened with perspiration which he wiped off during the interval between rounds. John, observing him closely, saw that he had a faraway look in his eyes and realized that the black man was in a world of his own, that nothing mattered to him except finishing off his opponent. That, in that sense, he was a born fighter.

  The end came swiftly. Gentleman Jack threw a splintering punch, so loud that one could hear his fingers cracking on the Black Pyramid’s head. This clearly hurt the black man for with a roar he turned on his assailant and swung a blow to his jaw which made him drop in his tracks. The man in charge counted Jack out swiftly and raised a long black arm to the public. The Pyramid had won.

  John turned to Sir Clovelly Lovell who was looking slightly downcast.

  ‘I think you owe me a guinea, Sir.’

  ‘Yes, my boy, I believe I do.’

  ‘Thank you. Now, would you mind excusing me for a moment? There are some people I must talk to.’

  John hurried over to where Mrs Silverwood and Mr Martin were wandering away round the fair. He bowed.

  ‘An excellent fight, was it not?’

  ‘It was indeed.’

  John addressed himself to the solicitor. ‘My dear sir, if you should recall anything further that the late Mr Gorringe said to you I wonder if you would be good enough to contact me. I am staying at present with Lady Elizabeth di Lorenzi.’

  ‘Oh yes. She lives in the big house above the river Exe, does she not?’

  ‘Indeed she does.’

  Mrs Silverwood’s face looked suddenly pointed. ‘Why?’ she said. ‘What is your interest in the dead man may I ask?’

  ‘The answer is, madam, that I work occasionally for Sir John Fielding of Bow Street and nowadays I cannot come across a case of murder without investigating a little. Please forgive me.’

  Was it his imagination or had the pair of them gone suddenly quiet?

  ‘I see,’ Mrs Silverwood answered softly. ‘Well, good day to you, Sir.’

  ‘Good day, Madam,’ John replied, bowed, and went back to join Sir Clovelly Lovell.

  Seven

  Any hopes the Apothecary might have had of questioning the Black Pyramid after the bout were swiftly dashed. The fighter was instantly surrounded by a large crowd of Exeter rips – who had obviously wagered deep on his winning – and was carried out of the field, shoulder-high. Hurrying behind him was Nathaniel Broome together with various hangers-on and assistants. Scurrying along, John managed to detain the manager just as he was leaving the field. Broome looked at him in some surprise.

  ‘Hello, Mr Rawlings. I didn’t expect to see you here.’

  ‘I saw an advertisement stating that the Black Pyramid was fighting so I came with the express purpose of watching him.’

  Nathaniel gestured to the crowd ahead. ‘As you can see he is rather taken up.’ He roared with laughter at his own joke, his small gingery face creasing.

  ‘So I observe. Tell me, my friend, did you know that William Gorringe was killed during the night we all stayed at The Half Moon?’

  ‘Yes. Terrible business. The Constable caught up with us at our current hostelry and informed us of same. The Pyramid was quite shaken I can tell you.’

  John thought that the Blind Beak could do with this particular Constable as a Runner. As a paid employee of those whose turn it was to act in the hated job, he was turning out to be splendid.

  ‘I’m sure he was utterly shocked. Was he able to throw any light on the case?’

  The pale blue eyes – set too closely, giving Nathaniel a somewhat pathetic air – held his own. ‘No. Why do you ask?’

  ‘No reason. I just wondered,’ John answered somewhat lamely.

  ‘Well, he told the man that we never set eyes on Mr Gorringe until that coach ride. And there the matter rests, Mr Rawlings. There the matter rests.’ Nathaniel drew a watch from his waistcoat pocket. ‘Gracious me. I’m running late. I must be off. I hope we meet again one day.’ He gave a slight bow. ‘Adieu.’

  And he was gone, scuttling along behind the Black Pyramid who was still shoulder-high and being transported rapidly towards the town.

  John stood still for a moment, trying to assemble his thoughts. But the impression he had most strongly was that today several people had stated quite baldly that they had no knowledge of William Gorringe – and that he had believed none of them.

  Having deposited Sir Clovelly Lovell back at his home, John Rawlings remounted his horse and set off in search of that remarkable fellow, the Exeter Constable. Having no idea at all where the man lived, the Apothecary decided to make enquiries in a tavern and being near the West Gate entered The Blackamore’s Head, an inn he remembered from his honeymoon.

  It was quiet inside, there being only one or two old codgers staring moodily into their pots of ale. They looked up as John entered but, having eyed him, soon lost interest and went back to contemplating their drinks. At the back of the bar a lanky potboy was whistling tunelessly beneath his breath and made his way in a slow and somewhat unwilling way to where John was sitting.

  ‘What be you drinking then?’

  ‘I’ll have some ale, please.’ The Apothecary produced a coin which he held between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Can you give me some information?’

  ‘Depends.’

  ‘Do you know the local Constable?’

  ‘Why, you in trouble then?’

  Without moving from his seat, John gripped the boy’s ear and twisted it. ‘That will be enough of your backchat. Answer me. Do you know the local officer of the law?’

  ‘Yes, I knows him,’ the boy answered, rubbing the side of his face and grimacing.

  ‘Well, can you tell me where I can find him?’

  ‘All you have to do is go to his house.’

  John was getting angry. ‘If I knew where that was I would.’ He gripped the ear again. ‘Do you want this coin or don’t you?’

  ‘Yessir. I wants it. He lives halfway up the High Street in a two-storey cottage. I don’t know the number – and I swear that’s the truth, Sir.’

  ‘Very well.’ John let go of the ear and handed over the coin. ‘Now I’ll have the ale if you please.’

  He sat consuming it, trying to plan what he should do next. He had seen all the men who had travelled down to Exeter with him – namely the Black Pyramid, Nathaniel Broome, Cuthbert Simms and Martin Meadows – and two of the women. But Paulina Gower and Fraulein Schmitt still eluded him. He vaguely recalled that Paulina had mentioned the theatre in Exeter and determined to take Elizabeth there soon. But that left the abominable German woman. Where was she and who could possibly be putting her up? Or perhaps, indeed, she lived here. Steeling himself against the thought of trying to question her, John finished his ale.

  And then there was one of those extraordinary twists of fate that people say never happen. The door of the inn opened and in walked the Constable himself. He ran his eyes swiftly over the people within and John felt them coming to rest on him. He had the impression of a small, dark bird-like man with a pair of black eyes that could possibly be very frightening indeed, and then the constable made his way towards him.

  ‘Well, well. We meet again, sir. How have you been keeping?’

  ‘Very fine, thank you.’ He motioned the man to sit down. ‘I’m glad you’ve come in because I was just about to call on you.’

  ‘Oh reall
y? And why would that be?’

  John thought rapidly and decided to reveal his interest to the intelligent being sitting opposite him. ‘Have you heard of Sir John Fielding?’ he asked.

  ‘Would that be the magistrate in Bow Street? The blind one?’

  ‘It would indeed.’

  ‘Ah,’ said the constable, and relapsed into an expectant silence.

  ‘Years ago,’ stated John, ‘there was a murder in Vaux Hall Gardens. I was a suspect but somehow I managed to convince Sir John – he was plain Mr Fielding in those days – of my innocence. Indeed he asked me to help him solve that case. And I have been working with him on and off ever since. To be honest with you I enjoy the challenge.’

  The Constable shot him a look of wry amusement. ‘I doubt you would if you were at it day in and day out, Sir.’

  ‘You have a point there. But regardless of that there is something I have to tell you about the murder of William Gorringe.’

  ‘Oh? And what might that be?’

  ‘That he feared some fellow passengers on the coach. He told Mr Meadows that he felt threatened.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘The Black Pyramid, the bare-knuckle fighter, for one.’

  The Constable sat silently for a moment or two, then he said, ‘That is very interesting indeed, Sir. It corroborates Meadows’s statement to me.’

  ‘At the time he believed that the man was suffering from delusions, in fact he asked me about the condition. But now it appears that Gorringe was speaking the truth.’

  ‘So it would seem. I have made some enquiries about him and it seems that he is not from round these parts.’

  The potboy appeared, somewhat late in the day, and grinned rather sheepishly at John.

  ‘This is the Constable, Sir. May I get you another pot of ale?’

  John turned to the man.

  ‘If it is all the same to you, Sir, I’ll take a small glass of canary.’

  ‘Of course. And I will have a refill.’ He held his empty tankard out to the boy. ‘I am Tobias Miller. Known to the world in general as Toby.’

  He grinned in a friendly manner but the Apothecary had the feeling that behind the smiles lay a brain like a vice. Nor were the dark eyes readable, completely shuttered from all outside penetration.

  The drinks arrived and the Constable downed the glass of bright yellow liquid. ‘And now, sir, I’d like to ask you a few questions.’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘You say that you had never met Mr Gorringe before?’

  ‘Definitely not. In fact I did not see him until we stopped for breakfast at some unearthly hour in the morning.’

  ‘I see.’ There was another long silence, then Toby said, ‘So is it your belief, Sir, that one of the fellow passengers did away with him?’

  ‘It certainly looks that way. That would be my instinct.’

  ‘I think you’re probably right. The man had no friends or relatives in the West Country that I have so far discovered. But if that were the case – that he was murdered by another passenger – it would suggest a certain amount of premeditation.’

  ‘It occurs to me that they must have discovered which coach he was travelling on – which is practically impossible.’

  Yet again Toby was silent, then he said, ‘Not if someone tipped the killer, or killers, off.’

  ‘That he was travelling to Exeter on a particular day at a particular time.’

  ‘Precisely.’ The Constable got to his feet. ‘Well, I must be off, Sir. It has been very pleasant meeting you. Where can I contact you again should I need to speak to you.’

  ‘At the home of Lady Elizabeth di Lorenzi. You know where that is?’

  ‘Indeed I do. Well, goodnight, Sir.’

  And so saying Toby tipped his hat and walked out into the early evening.

  As John rode home the sun was lowering in the heavens in a truly dramatic fashion. The sky had turned the colour of dragon’s blood and was drenching the clouds with the same vibrancy. Vivid tinctures coloured the earth and as John trotted forward he found himself looking round with a sense of awe. And then he saw a scarlet ribbon winding its way across the land and for a moment was startled before he realized it was a stream meandering down to join the Exe.

  The Apothecary dismounted and knelt down by the water to drink, leading his horse to do likewise. As he scooped up a handful and drank it down he noticed that the stream was full of bubbles and his mind turned again to some experiments he had been doing on combining gases with water to produce a carbonated effect. Aware that there was another Englishman interested in the same principal, one Joseph Priestley, John determined that this winter he would work on his experiments tirelessly until he had discovered the secret of carbonating water. Refreshed, he remounted and made his way up the steep valley to where the house stood on the summit.

  He was surprised to discover that Elizabeth had not only risen from her sickbed but was waiting impatiently for him in the blue drawing-room.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ she said. ‘I am so glad you are back because I have arranged with Lady Thackeray to meet her at the theatre tonight. You have just time to change before we set off.’

  ‘What about dining?’

  ‘That will have to be a supper at home after the play, I’m afraid. Are you hungry? Because, if so, I can get some bread and cheese and pie sent up from the kitchen.’

  ‘No, I can hang on. I had rather a large luncheon with Sir Clovelly Lovell as it happens.’

  ‘Why am I not surprised by that remark?’

  ‘Because you are clever,’ said John, and kissed the top of her head as he made his way upstairs.

  Half an hour later and they were stepping into Elizabeth’s finest coach and heading once more for Exeter. Leaning back against the beautifully cushioned interior John was vividly reminded of the minimum of comfort he had received on his journey down, particularly with Fraulein Schmitt moaning and groaning almost without cease. And this set his mind off at a tangent, wondering about the mysterious woman and where she had got to. He had meant to ask the Constable if he had had any luck in tracing her but somehow the conversation hadn’t gone down that path. Yet Tobias Miller was a bright and intelligent man and if anybody could locate the wretched creature it would be him.

  The play being performed was Shakespeare’s tragedy Macbeth and John was astonished to see that Paulina Gower was playing the Lady herself. Thinking she had had scant time for rehearsal, he realized that Paulina must have studied the part before and come down to Exeter almost at the last moment, which made him wonder whether she was a stand-in who had been called upon at the very end.

  Taking his seat in a box, sitting between Elizabeth and Lady Thackeray, John looked at the Playbill programme which informed him that the part of Macbeth was to be played by Thomas Roundell, rather a mediocre actor in the Apothecary’s opinion. The rest of the cast were unknown to him but John had the feeling that he was about to see a performance that was slightly under par. Yet Paulina surprised him, making him literally quiver with fear in her spellbinding mad scene. In fact he clapped enthusiastically when the curtain, raised and lowered only at the beginning and end of the performance, finally came down.

  John turned to the two ladies. ‘Lady Thackeray, Elizabeth, would you forgive me if I absent myself for a few minutes. I would like to call on Paulina Gower and congratulate her.’

  Lady Thacheray raised a large quizzing glass which snuggled comfortably on her voluptuous bosom and peered at him through it. This magnified one of her eyes to four times its size so that John had a momentary illusion that he was being regarded by a Cyclops.

  ‘Do you know her?’ she boomed.

  ‘I met her in the coach travelling to Devon.’

  ‘A somewhat superficial acquaintanceship.’

  ‘Be that as it may,’ John replied evenly, ‘I think I will go and pay my respects.’

  Elizabeth waved an airy hand. ‘I will await you in the coach.’

  Realizing that he
had little time the Apothecary hurried through the audience as best he could and out into Water Beer Street, then turned down into a little alleyway that ran beside the theatre. But here he enountered a problem. A crowd had already gathered and if he were to linger and speak to Paulina he would keep Elizabeth and her formidable companion waiting an unconscionable amount of time. Searching in his pockets for a piece of paper he found an old bill and scribbled on the back of it, ‘Dear Miss Gower, I thoroughly enjoyed your performance. Do you remember me from our coach journey to Devon? I would like to talk to you about an important matter. Please meet me tomorrow morning at ten . . .’ John scratched that out and wrote eleven. ‘. . . o’clock at The White Swan in High Street.’ He added his signature and, pushing his way through the throng, handed it to the stage door keeper. That done he scurried round to the front of the building and joined Elizabeth in her coach, Lady Thackeray already having left.

  ‘Did you see her?’ Elizabeth asked.

  ‘No, the company was too great. I would have kept you waiting.’

  In the darkness the Marchesa took his hand. ‘You are going to investigate that murder, aren’t you? The one that happened in the inn.’

  John raised her fingers to his lips. ‘I am doing so already,’ he answered with a smile.

  Eight

  Paulina Gower was wearing far more face paint that John remembered. With her carmined lips and her cheeks painted a becoming pink, to say nothing of the kohl applied to her eyes, she looked very charming and quite different from the pallid creature who had been travelling in the Exeter coach.

  ‘Madam, may I compliment you on your appearance,’ John said gallantly, and rising from his chair kissed her hand as she sat down opposite him.

  ‘Thank you. But you said you wanted to see me on a matter of some urgency and I am afraid I have little time,’ she answered, her Welsh accent audible once more, though it had been greatly modified during her performance.

  ‘I understand. But first of all allow me to get you a drink. What would you care for?’