Death on the Rocks

by Deryn Lake

  ‘John,’ Elizabeth whispered beside him, ‘I want you to take the twins to live with you. If you do not have them they will go to my cousins and that is something I could not bear.’

  ‘But my darling …’

  ‘No, don’t interrupt me. I shall be able to keep them for about another month. But after that time I will be beyond help. Say that you will let them grow up with your Rose – and with you. My dearest, wonderful John.’

  The tears that were never far from his eyes threatened to overspill again. All he had ever wanted was becoming reality, but in such a terrible way. He would have given up practically everything to restore Elizabeth to her wild, beautiful self. Yet he knew through his studies that the ancient Greeks had discovered the terrible disease and named it after the crab that sits so plumply in the middle of the Zodiac. Later they had called it carcinoma, based on the Greek word for crab: karkinos. And this is what Elizabeth had, a carcinoma that was slowly but surely eating the life out of her.

  ‘Of course I’ll take the boys,’ he whispered to her in the twilight. ‘And I promise that I will give them as good a life as is in my power to give.’

  ‘Then that is settled.’ She pushed herself up on one elbow and stared down into his face. Close like this he could see the changes in her. The thick black hair was almost grey and was thinner than he remembered it. The lovely expressive eyes had become dull and misty. But it was to her general well-being that the greatest change had come. She had lost not only weight but inches. Elizabeth had become an elfin creature.

  She made a great attempt at rallying, however, and having dressed and applied rouge, carmine and kohl, she led John to the boy’s nursery where they were to have their supper before retiring for the night. Studying them carefully, John could see no visible difference in them at all and wondered how he was ever going to be able to tell them apart. Their hair was lovely – thick, dark curls growing in an identical manner – while their eyes were a blaze of blue.

  ‘How do you know which is which?’ he asked Elizabeth.

  She smiled. ‘It’s very difficult to tell, especially when they play the game of being the other one.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘If one of them has been naughty he immediately changes character to his brother and then you are left with the decision of punishing both or neither of them.’

  ‘Little devils! And they’ve already worked this out?’

  ‘Indeed they have. But then I ask to look at their hands. And one of them – James – has got slightly longer fingers than Jasper. That’s how you tell.’

  ‘And then do you punish the miscreant?’

  Elizabeth laughed, and for a minute John could have sworn she was well again. ‘No, I haven’t the heart. You see, I adore them. You gave me the greatest gift with that delightful pair.’

  John put his arm round her waist, feeling delicate bones that were new to him.

  ‘It was my pleasure, I assure you.’

  She snuggled against him. ‘I am so glad you are here.’

  ‘I will stay as long as you like.’

  ‘Two days only. Just long enough for the boys to get used to you. You are bound to be working on a case.’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  Elizabeth raised a bony shoulder. ‘Plus ça change.’

  John smiled but could think of no answer, for once at a loss for words.

  A surfeit of twins was in order for the next couple of days. They were very good, obedient and kindly, but he could not help but notice that they already had quite different characteristics. Where one – Jasper – was quick to see the funny side of things, to see the humour behind the humour as it were, the other was simply a good-natured sort. John silently summed them up as the cynical and the sweet. The two parts of a human being, he supposed. But they were both delightful children and he relished being in their company. He did not see as he walked through the grounds, a twin trotting beside him on either side, that the gaunt figure of Elizabeth was watching from her bedroom window with a drawn smile on her face. Nor did he know what it cost her in the way of agony and pain to rise and dress for dinner and to make what conversation she could in those frantic gay hours before she could retire for the night once more.

  Yet this night, despite her haggard looks and forced laughter, he deliberately drew her into conversation as her usual hour of departure approached.

  ‘Elizabeth, to hell with my other commitments. I want to be with you and look after you.’

  She was silent for several minutes, deep in thought. Then she said, ‘Very well. I will send for you. Promise me that you will take the boys back to London with you.’

  ‘You know I will. And you promise me that you will call me in time.’

  Something like her old smile crossed her features. ‘When the right moment comes I promise to contact you.’

  ‘Thank you. Will you stay with me tonight, just to hold me and let me know you are nearby?’

  ‘You know I will.’

  Later, he studied her by the shaft of moonlight across the bed. In that moment he prayed that just for half an hour she could return to her old passionate self, but he knew that this could never be. That hateful disease about which he knew so little had struck again at a person who John held dear. He decided at that moment that he would ask the Doctors Hunter to tell him all that they knew about this silent killer which came out of nowhere and seemed to pick its victims at random.

  The next morning Elizabeth asked if she might stay in bed and John took the twins out for a ride. She had bought them two miniature ponies, on one of which James, the sweet child, allowed himself to be lifted. But Jasper, the cynic, actually raised his small foot into the stirrup and, despite his lack of years, swung himself up with enviable ease. John could not help but smile, wondering if they were going to have trouble with the boy later.

  They walked down into the Exeter valley, taking in the greenness of the countryside and the colour of the cloud-strewn sky.

  ‘Mama says we must call you papa,’ announced Jasper. ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Because I am your father, that’s why.’

  James smiled. ‘I thought we only had Mama.’

  ‘No,’ John answered firmly, ‘there are two of us. I am your papa.’

  Jasper said, ‘My real papa is a prince, you know.’

  ‘Well, until he comes you will have to make do with me, I’m afraid,’ John said wryly.

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I like you anyway,’ said James, as his brother decided to make his pony go faster, then fell off, cried a little and held up his arms to John.

  ‘Help me up. I’ve hurted myself.’

  ‘No bones broken,’ John said as he quickly examined his son. ‘You’ve just jarred yourself, ’tis all.’

  But it was nice to feel the warmth of the little body in his arms and to feel the child’s tears on his neck. John knew certainly at that moment that he and his twin sons would always be close, however their personalities developed in the future.

  The next day he left them behind and returned to the Hotwell. His parting from Elizabeth tore his heart from his body, metaphorically if not literally. She, who had once been so beautiful and proud, the strongest woman he had ever known and loved, had been reduced to a wisp, a shadow, a creature so near death that only her own determination was keeping her alive. John had begged her to call him back so that she would not be alone to face the end.

  She had given him a sad, dark smile. ‘I will do what I think best, my dear.’

  ‘Please don’t say that. You frighten me.’

  ‘The best way you can serve me is to look after our sons. You promise me that?’

  ‘You know I do.’

  He had kissed her hand and left, but his mind was full of foreboding and premonitions, which did not leave him until he returned to Bath. Here his spirits were raised by the thought of once more conversing with Sir Gabriel Kent and telling him of his two impish grandsons, soon to become part of the hous
ehold.

  Arriving back in Bath in the early morning, John accepted an elderly gentleman’s offer of a lift to the Hotwell, and once there made straight for the hotel where he briefly washed and changed his travel-stained garments. Then he went out to seek Gilbert Farr. But he had forgotten that it was Sunday and that all the shops on the Colonnade were closed to observe the Lord’s Day. However, a handwritten note had been placed in the apothecary’s window reading: ‘If any Personage should require Urgent Medical Attention he will find me between the hours of ten and twelve of the clock at number 7, Dowry Square.’ It was a little early but John decided to risk a call.

  A footman answered the door, stiff in both face and manner. ‘If I may take your card, Sir.’

  John fished around and found a rather tattered and dog-eared one which he presented with a flourish, and a second or two later Gilbert came running down the stairs. He was obviously dressing and was wearing a pair of smart breeches and a plum-coloured waistcoat.

  ‘My dear fellow, how good to see you. You’ll be pleased to hear that I have made some progress.’

  ‘Really? What is it?’

  ‘Come in, come in, and I’ll tell you all.’

  John was ushered into a small parlour full of knick-knacks, dominated by a large harp. He stared at it.

  ‘My sisters play,’ said Gilbert with a note of apology.

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ John answered, feeling stupid.

  ‘But you’ll want to know the news.’

  ‘Very much.’

  ‘It seems that Augustus Bagot – the imposter, not the real one – made an implacable enemy at the theatre.’

  ‘Oh, who was that?’

  ‘A dark and devilish young man called Wychwood.’

  ‘Is that his surname?’

  ‘Yes. He’s Sir Julian Wychwood, apparently some young rakehell, rolling in money, who comes to play cards at Hotwell and then moves on to Bath, where he fleeces all the gentlemen who sit at play with him. Anyway, to cut to the point he apparently asked some lad at the theatre to reserve him a box for the season, but as he had not yet arrived our friend Bagot took the box and refused to give it up.’

  ‘That does not sound too great a crime.’

  ‘You don’t know young Wychwood. He is the sort of man who likes everything to go his way. He was incensed by this turn of events and even threatened to kill said Bagot if he could not get his box back. But he never did get it back. The theatre had a regular customer who refused to budge. Bagot said the box suited him.’

  ‘Probably because it was sufficiently wide.’

  ‘That and he had his private chamber pot in there, which he used to use during the performance. Apparently, according to that amusing fellow Foote, one night Wychwood stole in and emptied the contents all over Bagot, who was utterly enraged.’

  John burst out laughing. ‘That is a sight I would like to have seen.’

  ‘The story gets better. Bagot lumbered to his feet, shouting his head off, at which Wychwood thumbed his nose, raced round the box twice and climbed upwards to the loge above.’

  ‘He sounds an admirable young man.’

  Gilbert’s face suddenly became serious. ‘Yes, but did he grease the steps? It sounds to me just the sort of prank he would indulge in.’

  ‘For sure, but can you prove it?’

  The Hotwell apothecary shook his head. ‘No. And I don’t see how I ever will. I think unless I can get a confession I will have to declare the matter closed.’

  John sat silently, staring into space, his mind suddenly full of thoughts of his Elizabeth, a flame which had burned so brilliantly but which was now on the point of being extinguished forever. Then he realised that Gilbert was waiting for him to speak.

  He nodded his head. ‘I think you’re right.’

  ‘What shall we do then?’

  John sighed, hating to admit defeat, then he said, ‘Let’s give it one more week before we give in.’

  Gilbert made a sound of jubilation. ‘I was hoping you’d say that. So what’s the plan?’

  ‘I’ll go back to Bristol’s underworld for a few days. Then, if I can’t find anything there, I’ll come back and try to meet Sir Julian Wychwood, perhaps even get him to confess.’

  ‘For that, my friend, you’ll have to have the luck of Old Nick himself.’

  ‘In any event it will be an interesting meeting.’

  ‘Interesting indeed,’ answered Gilbert, and grinned.

  As fate would have it the Apothecary did not have to wait long to encounter Sir Julian. That very day, having strolled out to take the air – Sir Gabriel having had to retire for the afternoon to come to terms with the fact that Elizabeth was dying – John saw that the street traders were selling their wares regardless of this being a day of rest. Naturalists had set up stalls offering minerals and jewellery made from Bristol diamonds, which were in fact quartz of magnesium conglomerate. Lace makers were selling lappet heads for ladies and ruffles for gentlemen, and it was at this booth that John spied Titania Groves examining the wares, and a tall man standing a few feet away from her, also looking at the goods for sale. Titania turned her head and looked at the stranger and, quick as a flash, he made a deep bow, stepped up to her, took her hand and kissed it lingeringly. Titania gaped, not being used to this kind of treatment, even in her social sphere. The man released her wrist slowly, then introduced himself, though John could not hear what he actually said. Titania smiled and dropped a curtsey, the man bowed and proceeded to buy her a lappet, which he then gave to her with a certain aloof dignity. The Apothecary was frankly amazed. He had never seen an approach like it. He looked at the fellow with much interest.

  He was tall – well over six feet – and slim as a reed. His hair was dark, the colour of liquorice, his features attractively brooding, his eyes amber with somewhat hooded lids. In short, he was devilishly handsome – and he knew it. John watched Titania beginning to melt and decided, somewhat selfishly, to intervene.

  ‘Good day, Miss Groves. I hope I find you well.’

  ‘Oh, good day, Mr Rawlings. I had not realised you were back from your visit.’

  John turned to the man. ‘And good day to you, Sir. I do not believe we have met.’

  Smooth as satin, the man bowed deeply. ‘We have not,’ he said. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. Julian Wychwood is my name.’

  John should have known it of course. Of all the attractive creatures currently at the Hotwell, this one crowned them all. He bowed very low.

  ‘And I am John Rawlings, Sir. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.’

  ‘Indeed,’ replied the other, giving the Apothecary an unreadable look and bowing once more.

  Titania, very rosy in the cheeks, said, ‘Mr Wychwood insists on buying me this lappet. I told him it would not be proper to receive a gift from a stranger but he insists.’

  Julian flashed a smile – predictably his teeth were strong and white – and said, ‘Please Miss Groves. It would give me so much pleasure.’

  John stood agape, completely outmanoeuvred by this charming stranger. He looked round for an ally and saw Lady Tyninghame walking alone, gazing in the direction of the river. Plucking his hat from his head he waved it aloft to attract her attention. She seemed slightly bewildered by his behaviour, but nonetheless came to join the group. Looking at her, John thought how delicate she was and a vision of Elizabeth shot through his mind. But he knew to think in such a manner would do neither him nor his lover any good at all. He deliberately forced himself to concentrate on the matter in hand.

  ‘Lady Tyninghame, how very nice to see you. You know Miss Groves, of course. But may I introduce Sir Julian Wychwood to you.’

  She gave a little gasp, the colour draining from her cheeks, leaving her white as a shroud. Automatically John put out his arm to support her. She seemed drained of animation and lay in the crook of his elbow for a good minute before her eyelids fluttered open.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said faintly. ‘I have been a little
unwell recently.’

  She straightened, turning to John with a gentle laugh and saying, ‘This kind man is always helping me out. I do thank you, Sir.’

  John silently handed her his smelling salts, but in fact he was slightly suspicious of this recent attack. It seemed to him that no sooner had she heard the name Julian Wychwood than she had collapsed.

  While she was inhaling, he asked pleasantly, ‘You have met Sir Julian before?’

  She gave him back the bottle and said, ‘Just once, many years ago. He would not remember me.’

  ‘Did you know his family?’

  ‘Only his father. His wife had died some years previously.’

  The Apothecary mulled this over but merely said, ‘Oh, I see.’

  But he didn’t, feeling that one look at Julian Wychwood had been enough to make the lady faint. But then, he supposed, that might well be enough for any woman.

  Julian, meanwhile, was gently kissing Lady Tyninghame’s hand, not on the wrist like Titania’s, but respectably on the back of the fingers.

  She looked up at him shyly. ‘I knew your father, Sir Julian. I called on him once.’

  ‘Do you know I can recall the incident. I believe you came to tea with us. I thought you most charming, Lady Tyninghame – as indeed I do now.’

  ‘I remember that you were frightened of a toy I brought you. A little wooden cannon that fired real balls.’

  Julian smiled. ‘I believe I hid my head in your lap and cried.’

  Violetta smiled. ‘But you were only a little boy.’

  ‘And now I am grown to full height and twenty-five years old.’

  ‘Quite the mature man.’

  ‘I shall take that as a compliment, Milady.’

  Miss Groves, a little annoyed by the lack of attention, said, ‘I really don’t think it would be proper to accept the lace lappet. I mean, we haven’t been properly introduced.’

  Sir Julian gave the slightest of shrugs. ‘Perhaps a way round the dilemma would be for me to give it to Lady Tyninghame, who can then give it to you.’

  Lady Tyninghame literally sparkled with merriment. She clapped her hands and looked quite the opposite from the sickly woman of a few minutes before.