Death and the Black Pyramid

by Deryn Lake

Frau Schmitt bore down on him.

  ‘Ach, mein friend. Have you got any nearer to solving this murder case?’

  ‘No, no nearer I am afraid, Madam.’

  ‘I vent to the Constable zat morning. Naturally he exonerated me of all guilt.’

  By no stretch of the imagination could John envision the man doing such a thing but he merely smiled.

  ‘That must have been a great relief to you.’

  ‘Vye you say such a thing? I am completely innocent.’

  ‘Madam, this affair is one of many strange depths. A man who called himself William Gorringe was murdered on the night we all stayed at The Half Moon. There was no robbery so clearly he was murdered by somebody he knew – unless it was the work of a total lunatic. Therefore it is perfectly reasonable for the Constable to assume that it was someone with whom Gorringe travelled. Until that person is brought to justice everyone – including myself – is under suspicion.’

  ‘Zat is as may be but I can assure you zat I had nussink to do vith his death.’

  For some reason that he could not pinpoint John had the peculiar sensation that Augusta was declaring her case too loudly, too emphatically. He almost felt as if he had stepped outside himself and was listening with a stranger’s ears.

  She was muttering on. ‘I alvays say zat nobody can break down ze barrier of truth. In fact I used to teach zat to my pupils ven I was their German governess.’

  John looked polite. ‘Oh yes? And how long ago was that?’

  ‘A good while. Almost twenty years. I vas vith a family, you see.’

  ‘How interesting,’ the Apothecary answered, his thoughts miles away.

  ‘Of course I had become a companion more than anyzing. I mean my pupils had grown up. I had long since ceased to give zem formal lessons. In fact I voz an intimate friend of my employer’s daughter.’

  ‘Why did you leave?’ asked John.

  ‘Alas, poor Helen died in tragic circumstances. Zere vas no job left for me. I had to throw myself on ze mercies of fortune.’

  ‘How very unfortunate.’

  ‘It voz indeed. I miss Helen even to zis day.’

  John looked at her and saw that the big fishy eyes had filled with tears and for the first time since he had met Miss Schmitt felt pity for the woman.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ was all he could think of saying.

  ‘Zank you, zank you. She meant a great deal to me as, indeed, did her brother.’

  The Apothecary was filled with the idea that the German governess had been in love with her pupil when he had grown to manhood.

  ‘It must have been terribly sad for you when you left.’

  ‘It voz. Of course I got ozzer employment in ozzer homes but zey were nothing like the life I had enjoyed vith Helen and Richard.’

  Not really knowing why he did so John took hold of Augusta’s large hand and squeezed it.

  ‘But you are quite happy now, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I am content. Zat is all I can say.’

  Afterwards, going home in the coach through the moonlight of that autumn night, he started to tell Elizabeth the story. But her head had descended on to his shoulder and he realized that she was dozing. He sat in silence, smelling the rich Devon earth giving up its autumn smell. Soon it would be Christmas and he must ask the Marchesa if he and his family could visit her again. But tonight his mind was too busy to deal with thoughts of the festive season. They ran over and over the events of the evening: of Cuthbert Simms’s strange fluctuations of colour, of Augusta Schmitt’s sad story of a life lived in genteel poverty. Until she had met and fallen in love with Richard – for the Apothecary was sure that that was how it had been.

  He closed his eyes but visions of the long-dead Helen flashed before them. He saw a lovely young girl dying of consumption, but somehow his mind could not agree with the picture. He started to wonder then precisely how she had died and determined that he would go and see the German governess and ask her exactly what happened. As he too dropped off to sleep, the Apothecary’s thoughts were in turmoil.

  Sixteen

  It was at exactly three o’clock in the morning that John Rawlings sat bolt upright in bed. Beside him the face of his little clock in its leather case was bathed in a shaft of moonlight that had stolen in between the closed curtains. But it was not to this that the Apothecary’s attention was drawn. In fact his brain, still somewhat dulled by recent sleep, was trying to remember something of vital importance which he had recalled as he was waking but had now forgotten again. Struggling to bring the thought back, the Apothecary looked round the room.

  He was alone in one of the many guest beds, hung with drapery and exceedingly fine in proportion. Elizabeth had gone to sleep in her own suite, overtired as she was after the exertions of Lady Sidmouth’s ball. Angry with himself that his memory had failed him, John got out of bed and walked slowly to the window, his feet cold upon the wooden floor. He paused a minute before throwing back the curtains to reveal a landscape bathed in the cold unearthly light of the full moon. Not a creature moved, not a leaf stirred. It was just as if he were gazing on a painted theatrical set.

  He had a sudden desire to be out there, to be a part of that mysterious and strangely-lit whole. With this mood upon him John removed his nightshirt, put on a pair of drawers, fastening them with a string around the waist, and pulled on a pair of breeches. Rapidly finding a shirt and leaving the neck open, he put on a cloak and silently made his way downstairs. Creeping through the sleeping house like a shadow he made his way to the kitchens and out by the door at the back, afraid to swing open the huge front door because of the noise.

  Once outside John started to walk briskly, the autumn air striking him with a sharp chill that penetrated his thick cloak and made him shiver. Yet he relished the exercise, hoping that it would stimulate his brain into remembering the vital information that had come to him in his sleep. He tried to recall the conversations of the night before. He had spoken to Lady Sidmouth, of course, and to Elizabeth, naturally. He had had a conversation with Cuthbert Simms, had passed the time of day with several other people, including Grevil and Dorinda Sedgewick, who had giggled more wildly than ever at the sight of him. Then had come the time he had spent with the evil-tongued Miranda Tremayne, the glacial Paulina Gower, and finally the large and fishy-eyed Fraulein Schmitt. One of those people must have said something that had triggered off the nocturnal thought processes. But what was it?

  Far below him the River Exe glinted like a silver mirage in the unrelenting moonlight. John stared down at it feeling as if he were the only human being alive, that he had been transported into a strange fairy land where he was the only creature breathing.

  Mentally he ran through the various conversations he had had. All pretty ordinary except for the nasty Miranda who had inferred that Elizabeth was old enough to be his mother. He changed his thought patterns abruptly, still shocked by the girl’s innuendo. And then his mind turned to that last chat he had had with the formidable German woman. He recalled feeling sorry for her because of some incident in her past. He strained to recall exactly what it was she had said. And then it came to him. Surely she had told him of a Helen and Richard? Surely she had told him that Helen had died in tragic circumstances?

  Where else had he heard this story? But the Apothecary knew the answer almost before he had asked himself the question. The girl who had been shot by her father had been called Helen and her brother, who had shut Vinehall Place up and moved to London after the terrible circumstance that had befallen them, was called Richard.

  With a grim smile on his lips the Apothecary ceased walking and headed once more for the great house in which Elizabeth and her unborn child slumbered in peace.

  ‘You are quite positive, Sir, that the names were the same?’ asked Joe Jago, pensively sipping his ale.

  ‘Completely and utterly,’ answered John.

  ‘I see,’ said Sir John Fielding’s clerk, and relapsed into thoughtful silence.

  The
y were sitting in The Blackamore’s Head in Exeter, having arranged to meet there at Lady Sidmouth’s rout, where Joe had distinguished himself in the dances and whirled about with a great deal of elan. Now, though, the clerk looked grim-faced as he considered the import of the Apothecary’s words.

  ‘They are not uncommon names, Sir. It could be a mere coincidence.’

  ‘It could indeed. But there is one sure way to find out.’

  ‘Question the German lady further.’

  ‘Not a task to which I look forward with relish,’ John answered with a sigh.

  ‘Would you care for me to do it?’ Jago enquired.

  ‘I would adore it but my belief is that she will take fright and start shouting at you.’

  ‘She cannot go on shouting forever,’ Joe commented reasonably.

  ‘No, but she can do it for a mighty long while by which time you will be thoroughly worn out. No, Joe, much as I hate the thought I think the task befalls me.’

  ‘Then I shall accompany you.’

  But John’s words of protest died on his lips as the doors to the tavern were swung open with a mighty thud and the Black Pyramid made a huge entrance, followed by the somewhat seedy figure of Nathaniel Broome, who sidled in behind him almost in an apologetic manner.

  ‘Good gracious,’ John hissed at Joe. ‘It’s the Black Pyramid himself. The fighter I was telling you about.’

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ Jago muttered back.

  ‘Heaven knows. But I’ll soon find out.’

  John rose, realizing as he did so that his head barely reached the black man’s shoulder. ‘My dear friend . . .’ he began.

  But the sentence was never finished as the Pyramid swung round and made a gloriously ostentatious bow.

  ‘Why, if it isn’t Mr Rawlings,’ he said loudly, giving a brilliant display of flashing white teeth. He nudged his companion who gave a spluttering cough. ‘Nathaniel, you recall the gentleman surely?’

  ‘Oh yes, of course I do,’ answered the other, wiping at his eyes with a brightly coloured but somewhat grimy handkerchief. ‘Pleased to see you again, Sir.’

  ‘Allow me to buy you a drink, Mr Rawlings. And what about your friend?’

  ‘Joe Jago, at your service,’ said the clerk, rising to his feet and giving a short bow.

  The Black Pyramid looked at him with narrowed eye. ‘I know your face from somewhere, Sir. No, don’t tell me. I’ll recall it sooner or later.’ He turned back to John. ‘Now, what are your orders, Mr Rawlings?’

  Ten minutes later the four men were sitting round a table, each with a jug of ale before him, making idle conversation. But all the while John could glimpse the Black Pyramid eyeing Joe Jago in a speculative fashion. In the end he could no longer bear it. Wondering whether the former Jack Beef had guessed the truth, he asked, ‘Have you solved the riddle of my friend’s identity?’

  ‘Yes, I think I have,’ came the reply.

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, Sir, it is either this gentleman or his brother that acts as clerk to Sir John Fielding and appears in court with him. Am I right?’

  ‘Perfectly,’ Joe answered promptly. ‘It is not my brother it is myself. I take it you have observed me from the Public Gallery?’

  ‘Of course. I have never been up before Sir John, though more by better luck than judgement.’ The Black Pyramid chuckled softly to himself, a sound which made the other members of the group smile. ‘I would have known you anywhere by your red hair which, as your wig slips often askew, is extremely recognizable.’

  Joe snatched his wig from his head which he then scratched before saying, ‘Then you can probably guess what I am doing in Exeter, gentlemen.’

  Nathaniel turned his small-eyed gaze on him. ‘No, I can’t. What is your business here?’

  ‘I have come to investigate the coach trip which ended in murder.’

  There was a silence during which Nat Broome coughed loudly while the Pyramid continued to stare at Joe, his gaze virtually unblinking.

  ‘I see,’ he said eventually. ‘On behalf of whom may I ask?’

  ‘On behalf of myself,’ Joe replied levelly.

  ‘But surely Devon is beyond Sir John’s or your jurisdiction,’ said Nat, sliding his eyes round to look at Joe once more.

  ‘Of course it is,’ the clerk replied with a certain asperity. ‘But I am down here for my own interest. I have known Mr Rawlings for many years, you see, and when he mentioned the strange affair in conversation I could not resist the temptation to take some leave and come to Devon and search for clues. Quite unofficially you understand.’

  The Black Pyramid gave Joe an extremely odd glance. ‘You did this just out of friendship?’ His incredulity was audible.

  ‘Most certainly,’ Jago replied crisply. ‘But anyway I needed an excuse to get out of London. The stinks are terrible, you know. Makes the whole air quite thick.’

  The black man laughed, a warm seductive sound. ‘You try boxing there in an indoor arena. The smell of sweat is positively acrid.’

  ‘At least it’s fresh,’ John put in gloomily – and everyone chuckled.

  ‘I’ve come down for a fight at Lord Lechdale’s. That’s to be tomorrow and held indoors. In his Great Hall I believe.’

  ‘Well, I wish you luck, Sir.’

  ‘I can get you an invitation if you so desire.’

  Joe spoke at once. ‘I should like that very much. I can think of nothing better than a good mill.’

  ‘And I would like to go as well,’ put in John.

  ‘Tell me,’ said Jago, having refilled everyone’s tankard first, ‘everything you know about the murdered man.’

  Nathaniel let out a high-pitched laugh. ‘Oh the investigation begins here, does it?’

  ‘Most certainly.’

  It was the Black Pyramid who answered him. ‘I knew nothing of the dead man except that he seemed very irritable throughout the journey.’

  John interrupted. ‘But I thought he told Mr Meadows that he felt he knew you – had seen you before somewhere.’

  The Pyramid raised a massive shoulder. ‘My friend, I am a famous bare-knuckle fighter. Many, many people have seen me during the course of my career. I am hardly surprised the man thought he recognized me. It is a common occurrence.’

  ‘I don’t recall it being quite like that,’ John answered quietly. ‘You see I happened to come in on a conversation between the deceased and Martin Meadows in which Mr Gorringe swore he knew you.’

  ‘So?’ said the black man, a steely look in his eye.

  Joe cleared his throat. ‘So we must accept your explanation.’

  Nathaniel was looking decidedly uncomfortable. ‘I always said that that Gorringe would make trouble.’

  Joe’s eye caught John’s for the briefest second then flickered away. He stood up.

  ‘Gentlemen, it has been a great pleasure speaking to you.’ He produced a watch from a pocket in his waistcoat. ‘Goodness me, I am late for my next appointment. I must go forthwith.’

  John got to his feet. ‘I’ll walk with you a bit of the way, Joe.’ He bowed. ‘Goodbye gentlemen.’

  The two men rose and returned the salutation, then huddled over their ale, their heads close together.

  Once outside the tavern John turned to Joe Jago. ‘Well?’

  ‘They were lying through their teeth, both of them.’

  ‘I thought as much.’

  ‘They knew William Gorringe and he knew them. What we must find out is when and how well.’

  The village of Sidford lay quiet beneath the noonday sun and John, looking at the rustic bridge with its usual passengers of slow-moving cattle, thought what a delightful setting it was. He imagined himself owning a house here, far away from London and its wicked life. But even as the idea entered his mind he knew that he would be quite incapable of leaving the metropolis and its many and varying excitements. He thought of Vaux Hall and the Peerless Pool, he thought of Chelsea buns and the Theatre Royal, he thought of the Hercules Pil
lars inn and the Foundling Hospital, and was aware that he loved London life with all its ugliness and wild raw beauty too much to consider moving away.

  And just for a second he felt as if he had entered Elizabeth’s mind and knew that just as he was an avowed Londoner, so was she a born countrywoman. And that she, too, could no sooner leave Devon with all its magnificent scenery and that it was ridiculous to think of her ever doing so. He sighed then, wondering how often he would be able to see his child when it was born, and Joe must have heard him because he gave the Apothecary a strange look.

  ‘Everything all right, Sir?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘Then let’s go and find the redoubtable German lady.’

  But when they knocked at the door of the house only the little maid answered, bobbed a curtsy, and said, ‘The ladies have gone away for a few days, Sirs. They felt that they needed a little holiday.’

  ‘Where have they gone, do you know?’

  ‘Cornwall, Sir. To the town of Padstow. Mrs Mitchell has a friend there and they have decided to call on her. Shall I say you came?’

  ‘Please do. Do you know how long they are staying?’

  ‘About a week, Sir.’

  ‘How very unfortunate,’ said John as they stepped back into the waiting trap, a mode of transport they had hired to get them around.

  ‘It is indeed, Mr Rawlings. But I am sure we shall find ways of occupying our time.’

  ‘How exactly?’

  ‘By going to see the Black Pyramid fight for a start.’

  John smiled crookedly. ‘I can’t think of a better way of spending an evening.’

  As he said this he thought of Elizabeth and hoped that she would forgive him the minor falsehood.

  Seventeen

  The candles were being replaced by servants, the wine decanters too, and bets were being laid by the hordes of people present, which, somewhat to John’s astonishment, included several members of the fair sex. And what women they were. Pretty, painted dolls – patched, powdered and pretentious – vied for attention alongside big, bosomy buttocks, with low-cut gowns and leering smiles, many of which displayed brown rotting teeth. John thought, running an interested eye over them, that they all looked like products of a Covent Garden whorehouse serving both ends of the social scale.