Death on the Rocks

by Deryn Lake

  Sir Gabriel looked at John and raised a finely chiselled eyebrow. ‘A love match?’ he said.

  His son looked thoughtful. ‘I’m not so sure,’ he answered.

  The next dance was called and though Sir Gabriel decided to remain seated and consume a glass of punch, John felt obliged to bow before Miss Abigail Thorney, who was sitting amongst a collection of mothers and spinsters, trying to look animated. She went the colour of a beetroot and stood up, knocking a thin woman half off her seat as she did so.

  ‘Oh, Mr Rawlings,’ she gushed. ‘Do you really want to dance with me?’

  ‘It would be my pleasure, Madam.’

  She danced like a haystack as well, this one caught in a violent wind. Whirling about, clapping her hands with excitement, she laughed so much that she did not notice the other dancers smiling as well. John rather enjoyed himself and cavorted vigorously, until, with a great chord from the orchestra, Miss Thorney fell over and was helped up by various gentlemen amidst cries of ‘Oh, how foolish I am,’ and ‘Please excuse, silly me.’ Afterwards John escorted her to the punch bowl and ladled her a glass while she looked round the room, smiling contentedly. And then her eye was caught by something and she began to stare fixedly. John, following her gaze, saw that it was trained on a couple who stood a little outside the rest of the happy dancers. It was Lady Tyninghame and Julian Wychwood, talking earnestly, she gazing up into his face, which she suddenly put both hands up to and pulled towards her to kiss him fondly on the cheek.

  Miss Thorney let out an exclamation of surprise. John smiled.

  ‘I agree. It is rather public a place for a caress.’

  She looked up at him, her expression concerned. ‘It’s not that, it’s just …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t know. For a split second I thought … But it’s only silly me. Please pay no attention.’

  ‘But what startled you?’

  ‘Just for a moment she looked awfully familiar. But then she has been around here for the season, so that would explain it.’

  ‘Yes,’ said John, but looked terribly thoughtful.

  Another dance was called and this time he partnered Titania Groves. But in the middle of all the whirling and stamping he thought of Elizabeth and how much she would have enjoyed the occasion. She was always in the background of his mind, but John was a born survivor, which meant that though he had come face to face with personal loss twice in his life, he would not and could not let it bring him down. He felt as deeply as those who made a great show of sorrow, wearing their widowed state like a mourning ring for the rest of their days, but he could not join them. He was too strong a character to allow it.

  The dance ended and he made his way to where Lady Tyninghame and Sir Julian had been standing together. But the doors leading from the Long Room were open and he realised that they had stepped out onto the balcony together. Feeling slightly dishonest but for all that extremely interested, John paused in the opening and listened.

  ‘You are beautiful,’ came a voice, not Julian to Violetta but the other way round.

  Julian laughed in the silvery moonlight. ‘Come now, my dear, surely that is going a little far?’

  ‘No, darling, I mean it. You are outstanding. In all my wildest imaginings I never thought you could be so fine.’

  ‘Flattery will turn my head. But I must say I enjoy it.’

  ‘Surely you must get enough of that from that Titania?’

  ‘I’ve told you already, I like her well enough but that is all there is to it. The most wonderful thing about this season was meeting you. And of all places in this funny little spa.’

  ‘Fate brought us together, Julian. I really believe that.’

  But there the eavesdropping ended as some other dancers made their way out and John was forced to relinquish his place in the doorway. That Violetta and Julian were lovers he was now certain. But what of his other ideas? At the present time there was no answer to them.

  Probably because he had thought of Elizabeth during the dance, he dreamt of her that night. He was in a boat, far out at sea, which was hit by a sudden squall. It began to founder and in the dream John was washed overboard. He started to swim but after a while ran out of energy and felt his head go under the waves. Then a pair of strong arms seized him round the waist and bore him back up to the surface. He turned and saw that Elizabeth was there, swimming with him, holding him up.

  ‘So you did become a mermaid,’ he said in the dream.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said, and smiled her gorgeous smile, ‘and I’ll always swim beside you.’

  John woke abruptly, scared for some strange reason because the dream had been a reassuring one, and then realised that there was a persistent tapping at his door. It was not loud and threatening but a constant sound which sent a chill down John’s spine.

  ‘Who’s there?’ he called.

  There was no answer, but the sound continued, growing a little more urgent.

  ‘Who is it?’ he called again.

  This time someone spoke at the other side of the door and John was able to make out that it was a man, but whoever it was said their name so softly that John could not catch it. Reluctantly, he got out of bed, lit a candle and threw a loose silk gown over his night shirt. Then he went to the door. Outside stood a shadowy figure.

  ‘Come forward,’ John ordered. ‘Step into the light that I might see your face.’

  Samson took a pace in, his tall frame filling the doorway.

  ‘Master,’ he said.

  ‘What is it?’

  Samson sank onto one knee. ‘Master, I’ve come to confess.’

  Twenty-One

  John stared at Samson. ‘What for?’

  ‘Why, for the murder, Sir. The murder of Augustus Bagot.’

  John gaped. ‘Why you of all people?’

  Samson looked at him without a flicker of emotion. ‘I did it, Sir. That’s why I’ve come to confess to you.’

  ‘Well you’d best enter and tell me about it.’

  Samson’s large frame threw an enormous shadow on the wall as he gingerly sat on the end of John’s bed, while the Apothecary parked himself on the one chair that was in there.

  ‘Tell me the story from the start,’ he said, ‘including what he did to upset you.’

  The answer was astounding. ‘He came into the Strawberry Fields and made a thorough nuisance of himself.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Drunk as a lord and pestering all the nan-boys.’

  ‘I thought they’d be used to that.’

  ‘He did it too much. It was offensive. It was my job to throw him out and I did so.’

  ‘Unaided?’

  ‘No, with help from the madame, who knew how to pack a punch. We left him lying in the gutter.’

  John grinned. ‘That’s a nice thought. But was this enough to make you want to murder the man?’

  ‘People did not speak well of him in Bristol.’

  John thought to himself that he wished he knew which Augustus Samson was referring to, but kept his own counsel.

  Samson continued, ‘Well it all built up in me until one night I borrowed Mr Herbert’s horse and rode to the Hotwell over the Downs. Then I greased the top three steps and the rest you know.’

  The story was as full of holes as a colander, but John merely nodded.

  ‘Well, thank you, Samson. But tell me one thing. Why was it so urgent that you had to wake me up? Surely it could have waited until tomorrow morning?’

  The black man frowned, clearly thinking, then eventually said, ‘Well I didn’t want you going after the wrong person, Sir.’

  So that was it, a strange midnight confession, and one which John could hardly credit. He now felt certain that the killer was Julian Wychwood, enraged beyond measure by the loss of his box at the theatre. And the woman who had greased the steps? Could it possibly be Titania Groves, not realising what she was doing, perhaps told that it was a jape, and more than willing to earn herself good point
s in her lover’s eyes?

  John showed Samson out, then lay down on his bed, wide awake and staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. Every character staying at the Hotwell flitted before his eyes and eventually formed into a grotesque dance before he fell asleep again.

  The morning found him strangely refreshed and longing for his breakfast. Sir Gabriel was lying in so he ate alone, very heartily. Then he went for a walk by the river to get some fresh air. Ahead of him, sitting in a shady arbour, he spied Lady Tyninghame, looking pale and pensive. Of Sir Julian Wychwood there was no sign and John decided to seize the opportunity. He bowed before her.

  ‘Good morning, Madam. I trust that this day finds you well.’

  She gave him a wistful smile. ‘As well as can be hoped, Sir.’

  Something in the way she spoke rang a faint alarm bell in John’s mind and he said, ‘Why? Is anything wrong?’

  ‘Not with the day, no. It is truly beautiful for the time of year. But I am afraid that I am suffering at the moment.’

  ‘What with, Madam? If I may ask.’

  ‘I have such a bad reaction to food. It rather frightens me. I find I can manage only a few mouthfuls at a time. My appetite has completely gone.’

  John’s professionalism was aroused. ‘Are you taking anything to restore your loss of hunger?’

  ‘A decoction of the roots of Goat’s Beard. But I do not find it very effective.’

  ‘No, no, Madam. The inner rind of the Barberry tree boiled in white wine. That will do you far more good. You must drink a quarter of a pint every morning. I will ask Gilbert Farr to make you some up.’

  She turned on him a sad, sweet smile. ‘I really don’t know if it will be any use, Mr Rawlings. You see, I had a difficult labour and my appetite never returned after that.’

  ‘Labour!’ John exclaimed. ‘But I had not realised you had had a child, Madam.’

  She gave a bitter laugh. ‘No, not many people do. But that was the reason my husband threw me out. He knew that the child could not be his.’

  ‘Good heavens, may I ask why?’

  ‘He stopped sleeping with me some months before. Called me a slut and a drab and never laid a finger on me again, except to beat me of course.’

  ‘What a horrible story. I am so sorry that you have had to suffer like this.’

  She smiled once more. ‘None of it mattered to me because, you see, I had at last met my soul mate. My own true love, and that meant I was so happy that I no longer felt the pain.’

  John was silent, not quite sure where this was leading.

  Lady Tyninghame continued, ‘I think you know who it was I fell in love with.’

  John stared in astonishment. ‘Sir Julian Wychwood?’

  Violetta laughed aloud. ‘You speak of my sweet son. I have found him again after all these years. He is such a joy to me.’

  ‘Your son,’ said John, the breath knocked out of him. ‘Good God!’

  There was the sound of footsteps running along the river walk and the next second the man himself appeared. He turned on John fiercely.

  ‘What have you said to Milady? How dare you upset her!’

  ‘I have said nothing,’ the Apothecary answered firmly.

  ‘Don’t argue please, my dears,’ cried Lady Tyninghame. ‘I was merely recounting the past to Mr Rawlings.’

  As if this was a cue for people to arrive, a mass of activity suddenly took place on the riverside walk. Sir Gabriel could be seen, his usual black and white garb crisp in the morning sunlight. He walked alone, but a few paces behind him one could glimpse Lady Dartington and Titania, and walking behind them with his dog in tow came Henry Tavener.

  Julian pulled a dark face at John. ‘Not a word, d’ye hear me?’

  Lady Tyninghame called out, ‘Greetings, Sir Gabriel, come and sit with me, do.’

  The old man made a few gallant strides and bowed to the assembled company before taking a seat beside Violetta, whose hand he kissed. Lady Dartington gave a loud sniff on seeing who was there and went walking past with Titania, who made sorrowful sheep’s eyes at Sir Julian, but Henry Tavener joined them saying, ‘I feel in damn fine spirits thanks to you, my dear Rawlings.’

  ‘Why, what did he do?’ asked Lady Tyninghame.

  ‘Proved to me that my parents really were my parents, or rather that my mother is my actual mother.’

  There was a silence while everyone tried to work out what he meant, then Lady Tyninghame said, ‘I have found my son, only recently, and I want you all to know that I love him more than life itself.’

  She turned to Wychwood, who stood behind her in what one could only think of as a protective manner and, placing both arms around his neck, pulled his face down that she might kiss it.

  ‘My darling,’ she said.

  He kissed her in return and Lady Dartington, walking ahead, gave a loud sound of contempt and, nudging Titania, said, ‘I told you so,’ in a highly audible voice.

  Violetta smiled gently. ‘May I tell you the whole story?’ she asked.

  ‘Dear madam, if you should so desire then please do so,’ Sir Gabriel answered.

  ‘Years ago I was married to a beast of a man who set about me with a riding crop on my wedding night. I will spare you the details but I endured years of pain, and then I met a young man who changed my life completely. His name was Augustus Bagot.’

  For the second time that morning John rocked on his feet. ‘You don’t mean …’

  ‘No, the young and beautiful Gus. He was seventeen, I was twenty-five, but we loved each other with great passion. Eventually I became pregnant and my husband – who had thrown me out of his bedroom because I could not conceive by him – knew damn well that the child could not be his. Poor little Gussie was frantic but had nothing to offer me. You see, he was just a child really. Poor little boy.’

  Everyone sat transfixed and John, looking round, saw that tears had started to flow gently down Violetta’s cheeks and were echoed by a moistness of eye in, of all people, Henry Tavener.

  ‘Anyway, I had a little money of my own so I booked a passage to the Colonies and set out on that long sea voyage quite alone except for a maid. Funnily enough she was terribly seasick and I was not, not at all. And then, when I arrived in Boston I met a man who I had glimpsed on the boat. His wife had died on the voyage and he was desperate to start a new life so we joined forces. I could not marry him because I was not divorced, but he was a good, kind man, totally uneducated, a labourer who had come to the Americas to start a new life, but a loving spirit.’

  She wept in earnest now.

  ‘We moved in together and ran a boarding house. And then, one day, he suddenly died – I think of hard work. A few days later I gave birth to my son and, with the utmost reluctance, I gave him to a couple who longed for children but who were unable to have any. Their name was Wychwood. Josiah Wychwood and his employees set up in the fur trade in Hudson Bay and were so successful that the couple returned to England and he was made a baronet.’

  ‘And you, Madam,’ asked Sir Gabriel, ‘how did you fare?’

  ‘Funnily enough, I made a great success. Women running things on their own were not so oddly looked upon in the Colonies. I gathered enough money to come back home and to find my own lovely boy again.’

  So the identity of both Bagot’s little bastards had been revealed. At last. But there were still many questions to be answered. Had Julian greased the steps to avenge his mother? Because, if so, he had picked the wrong Augustus. And why, when she had loved her little Gussie so much? Why would he seek revenge?

  Sir Julian spoke. ‘Come, Mama, you must be tired. Let me buy you some tea.’

  She rose to her feet, then smiled and bowed her head graciously, before strolling off with her son in the direction of the river.

  Sir Gabriel turned to John.

  ‘Well, what did you make of all that?’

  ‘It was a fascinating story. Rather like a novel, don’t you agree?’

  Sir Gabriel smiled and said, �
��All it needed was a pack of baying wolf hounds …’

  But the rest of his words were drowned out by the sounds of a man shouting in pain and a woman’s voice, screaming loud and long, then suddenly coming to a halt as if something had been shoved over her face. John and Sir Gabriel stared at each other in consternation, then the younger man began to run in the direction of the noise.

  Julian Wychwood was lying on the path, blood oozing from his head, a stone with the tell-tale signs of being used as a weapon abandoned nearby. Of Lady Tyninghame there was no sign whatsoever. Julian was coming round as the Apothecary ran up and lifted the young man’s head and shoulders.

  ‘Where’s your mother?’ he asked rapidly.

  Julian furrowed his brow. ‘I don’t know. I was attacked by some villain wearing a kerchief over his face. He dragged her off. That’s all I can tell you.’

  ‘Did he have a coach nearby?’

  ‘I didn’t see. I’m afraid I lost consciousness for a few minutes.’

  John examined Julian’s head. ‘That’s a nasty gash you have there. I’ll take you to the apothecary to dress it, then go in search of your mother.’

  Somehow he managed to drag the wounded man to his feet and the two of them staggered back down the walk to see Henry Tavener running towards them.

  ‘Just the man,’ John shouted. ‘Julian’s wounded and must see the apothecary at once, and Lady Tyninghame’s been abducted.’

  ‘Which do you want me to do?’ Henry asked ingenuously.

  ‘Take Julian to Gilbert Farr quickly. And if you see my father tell him I’ve gone to find Lady Tyninghame.’

  And with that John hurried back to the place he had found Julian. Close to where the body of the young man had lain were tracks, a few inches apart, of something that had been dragged from the riverside walk. Following them, John saw the wheel marks of a waiting coach and drew his own conclusions. The indentations had been caused by the lady’s heels as she had been seized under the arms and dragged backwards. And John deduced from the direction of the wheel and hoof marks – of which there were two sets – that the coach must have been heading for Bristol along the track that led by the river. Just for a moment or two he stood hesitating, then he took off for the Hotwell at speed.