Death in the Valley of Shadows

by Deryn Lake

  The Apothecary woke with a scream to find that it was already past his time for rising. He put his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes and the next thing he knew was when a maid came in with his washing water and a message that it was halfpast eight.

  “God!” said John, leaping out of bed in a flurry. “Oh heavens, I shall be late for work.”

  “Your wife, Mrs. Rawlings, says that for once it doesn’t matter and that as soon as you are respectable you are to go and see her.”

  “Tell her I’ll be five minutes at the most,” said John, and suddenly gave a loud and curiously tuneful whistle which he continued until he joined Emilia and Rose, who were both out of bed and ready to socialise with him.

  The dream still hung over him, horribly so, and it was a relief to see that she was up and moving round the room, not hearing him for a moment. But when she did and spun round, Emilia gave him the most beautiful smile. He crossed over to her and pulled her into his arms, then gave her a deep and loving kiss. And they were still like this, kissing and hugging, when Dorcas came in.

  “Oh, beg pardon, Madam. I didn’t know you had company.”

  . “Oh Dorcas, don’t be silly. It’s my husband.”

  “I can see that, Madam.”

  And she would have gone out like that, slightly sad and miserable, had not John picked her up and carried her round the room, where she, with much giggling, rushed out again to adjust herself before the housekeeper caught her.

  So it was that the two of them went to Rose Rawlings, who had fallen asleep again on the big bed, and wondered at her beauty and said words of praise, before the father and husband reluctantly went downstairs to start the working day.

  Without the presence of Mrs. Alleyn and Sir Gabriel, both of whom had returned to their respective country addresses, the house seemed empty and quiet. John sat alone, stolidly eating breakfast but not really tasting anything, as memories of the dream came back to taunt him. And try as he would he could not shake the vile thing off throughout the rest of that day, when flashes of it came back to him. Still, he put a brave face on it and was preparing to close the shop when Joe Jago called.

  “Sorry to be so late, Sir, but just thought I’d better tell you that the lads have flown the nest.”

  John stared at him blankly, the words not meaning anything.

  “They’ve gone, Sir. Justin and Greville. The Runners went to their house but they weren’t there and no message as to when they’d be back either.”

  “So where are their late father’s remains?”

  “In the earth. No sooner had the Coroner released the body than he was buried. Here, in London. Nobody present except the two boys. So that’s a funeral you won’t be attending.”

  “No,” John answered, and sighed deeply, “I won’t, will I.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Two days passed and there was no action, except that on the second day the coroner’s court met and pronounced that Evalina Fenchurch had been murdered but that her body would be released for burial. So another sorry victim of the vicious killer of the Fenchurchs would be laid to rest. John was just wondering where the committal to earth was going to take place, when a letter arrived for him early that morning. In a fearful mood, he opened it and saw that it was from Jocasta.

  “My dear Mr. Rawlings,”

  It is with Much Misery that I Write to Inform You of the Events that are Scheduled to Take Place in Three Days lime. My Sister is to Be Laid to Rest beside the Frame of My Father in St. Mary’s Church, Stoke d’Abemon. We, As a Family, Would very Much Like You to be There and Hope that You Will Find a Way to Join Us.”

  It went on with the usual signature, and John, immediately flying up to the bedroom with the letter in his hand, found his wife and daughter both awake and cuddling.

  “Here’s a thing,” he said, and passed her the note to read.

  “Well,” Emilia said, “it’s the very excuse I wanted.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That I am going to get up and go with you - and Rose of course. We shall drive down tomorrow and stay with Serafina, who is beside herself to see the child. Oh John, please don’t argue. It is absolutely no use. I intend to go and there’s an end to it.”

  “But darling…”

  “There is no good you starting, Husband. I intend to rise and to prove that I am capable of it, I shall come and have breakfast with you.”

  And before he could stop her, she pulled on the bell so hard that the cover came away in her hand. He had been about to tell her that he could not possibly go, that owing to all the circumstances he was staying behind in London, but Emilia had that look about her that meant only one thing. He was going and that was the end of that. With a sigh of reluctance, John went downstairs to finish his meal and pen a swift letter to Serafina telling her that they would all three of them be coming, in addition to two servants, the very next day.

  It became obvious that Emilia had been up all day as soon as he got home that evening. The big trunks had been set out in the bedroom and she was up and very busy. However she did listen to his pleas and retired to bed as soon as she had dined. Therefore John was quite alone, sitting down in the library and reading the newspaper, when there came a clamouring of the street doorbell. Moving a little nearer, John listened.

  After a few moments, a servant came. “It’s Mr. Jago, Sir.”

  “Really? I wonder what he wants so late. Show him in, Peters.”

  A minute or so later, Jago’s face appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Rawlings, my dear, I do hope that I haven’t caught you too late.”

  “Not at all. Come in.”

  It was obvious from his grin and breath that he was slightly the worse for drink but nothing that John had not coped with in the past.

  “My dear fellow, take a seat. What would you like?”

  “I’ll have a brandy, my friend. But what about you. You’re not drinking anything.”

  “I’ll join you, if I may. I hadn’t realised how the time was getting on,” said John.

  Jago waited until a tray of drinks had been brought in and then launched into why he was there.

  “It’s the Governor, Sir. He was very angry that those Bussell boys have slipped the net. Course he looked for ‘em in London, but they weren’t there either. Said we couldn’t have people flouting the law and that was all there was to it.”

  “Has he calmed down?”

  “Not greatly. As a matter of fact I’ve just come from his office now. Lady Fielding - Elizabeth to you - has told him not to be such a silly arse and I think he’s finally bowing to the inevitable.”

  Jago finished his glass and held it out for a refill.

  “That makes a change,” said John, pouring him a stiff measure and a smaller one for himself.

  “That is what I thought. Anyway, I said, ‘Blessing on you. Beak, for getting off your high horse and giving us all a breather’.”

  Joe Jago convulsed with laughter and so did John, though slightly less so.

  “I says to him, ‘Beak you’ve outrun us all, so here’s to you’.”

  It was getting very repetitive and John saw tears behind Joe’s eyes but whether from too much laughing or whether from some other, deeper, cause, he did not know. He hesitated before saying anything and this brought about the usual result. Joe, with an enormous snort, applied the handkerchief to both eyes and nose, gave a huge Harumph, and then laughed all over again. John sat in silence and waited for the next turn. But none was forthcoming and Joe now sat, grinning a little, sipping on his third brandy.

  Eventually, John said, “I wonder if there are two murderers, really. Or if it is a ruse to unsettle all of us.”

  Joe looked instantly sober, in that alarming way of his. “Oh yes, at least two, I think. There’s a great deal going on. It’s all very well for the Magistrate to suspect the two young Bussells, but there’s a lot involved in this. A lot.”

  “What do you think about Lieutentant Mendoza?”

 
Joe turned to look at John and the Apothecary saw that now he was absolutely sober. “A strange young cove, if you ask me. What was all that business with Mrs. Trewellan?”

  John spread his hands. “I can only presume that they are lovers. But I’ve heard no more of it. So, for the moment, that matter has been dropped.”

  Joe put his glass down and once more stared into the fire. “There’s an awful lot of weird goings on in this case, Sir. First, there’s Mr. Fenchurch. Then, no sooner have we recovered from that, then there’s Mrs. Bussell. Followed a few days later by Mr. Bussell and Evalina. Then Sir John orders the arrest of the brothers Bussell and, lo and behold, they have gone. This is to say nothing of Mrs. Rayner’s first husband, who died of poisoning, and Mrs. Trewellan who is having an affair with a handsome young man at least twenty years her junior. It’s a very rum state of affairs if you ask me.”

  “But we’re not asking you, we’re asking Sir John,” said the Apothecary with a laugh.

  But the clerk was away, staring into the flames, not hearing what had been said to him. It was, John decided, the very moment to have a stiff drink himself, then to join him in silent contemplation.

  The next morning, relatively early, they set off for West Clandon. Into the carriage swept Emilia Rawlings, and her baby was handed to her a moment later. Then followed Dorcas, in her best travelling outfit, and finally in went John. The luggage, which had been stacked on board for the last thirty minutes, was then checked over on a list prepared by Emilia but read out by John. Then finally they were off, with much waving and one or two whistles from the staff.

  “Now, now young ladies,” said Axford, the head man, but the girls merely bobbed at him and said, “Yes, Sir,” then continued to whirl about and giggle.

  The carriage meanwhile had disappeared into Gerrard Street and though one or two ran down the length of Nassau Street to give it a final wave, it shortly vanished from view and they ran back into the house.

  Irish Tom was heading straight for the Hercules Pillars where he had planned his first stop before they left London completely behind them. In this way, travelling slowly and making sure that the horses had an hour’s rest at certain prescribed points, they reached West Clandon as night began to fall and made their way up the drive.

  “What a gorgeous house,” said Emilia, close to John’s ear.

  He looked at her and saw that she was as entranced with the building as he had been when he had first come across it. Forgetting all about Dorcas, John bent down and kissed her, then licked her ear for good measure. She smiled up at him and the smile seemed to say volumes.

  Whooping round her knees, Serafina’s two children had come to say hello, though a nurse hovered nearby to make sure they did not make a nuisance of themselves. However, this eventuality need not have been bothered with. They were entranced by Rose, they adored Rose, they insisted at once that should anything ever befall Rose’s parents they would be the next in line to adopt her. They walked round with her, they talked to her, they hugged and kissed her. And she? She gave them that steadfast gaze of hers, then that slow smile that others thought was an attack of wind.

  Eventually, though, everybody left for their rooms and there came that glorious moment when the house was being prepared for dinner and delicious smells, albeit faint, were wafting on the currents of air.

  “What a heavenly place,” said Emilia, taking off her hat and flinging it on the bed. “Oh John, it’s divine.” And she threw herself backwards and kicked her legs aloft. In a minute he was beside her, doing likewise. Thus they kicked wildly, then drew stiller, then - not having shared a room since Rose had been bom - they toyed and played for half an hour, then reluctantly drew apart and started to get ready for dinner, telling each other repeatedly that it was only another week or three before they could be united in absolutely every way.

  “By which time we should have all the perpetrators of these horrid murders behind bars,” said Emilia.

  The mood changed and they grew quieter, thinking of all the terrible things that had been done recently. And they were still like this, not bad-tempered but contemplative, when they went down to dinner.

  “My dear friends,” said Louis, who had been wandering the estate when they had arrived and so had not seen them, “how good of you to call on us. I hope that we shall have the pleasure of your company for several days at least.”

  “Certainly. We are here to attend the funeral of Miss Evalina Fenchurch, which is to take place the day after tomorrow. So I expect we shall take in the weekend before we depart. Emilia…”

  But she was already off on a tour of the house with Serafina and the men were left alone. Louis, seeing this, at once drew in a chair and motioned his old companion to do likewise.

  “Tell me, my dear friend, who is doing these awful crimes?”

  “I would imagine the Bussells. But they opened the most damnable void when they did so, because they were hit back doubly, but by whom I have no idea. Then, in revenge, they killed Evalina. What a terrible tragedy it all is.”

  Louis spread his hands. “Isn’t it just? The wiping out of innocents. And where will it all end? Is there to be another murder - or two, perhaps - for this reprehensible crime?”

  John shook his head. “I don’t know.” Then he braced himself. “No, of course there won’t, Sir John is quite prepared to make an arrest as soon as the Bussells return. With them locked away there won’t be any more trouble.”

  But he wished he felt the jaunty note that he had in his voice. However, their conversation was at an end. Emilia and Serafina had rejoined them and they must make light of it, for the moment anyway.

  They had finished everything and were sitting back replete, Emilia just showing the first signs of being up late and starting to yawn. It was then that Serafina, unaware that the conversation had already touched on the matter, asked a difficult question.

  “Well, has Sir John found the fellow responsible?”

  “No,” said John, “not yet.”

  “What?” said Serafina.

  “I meant what I said. He imagines the Bussells to be responsible for some of the deaths. A person as yet unknown, for the others.”

  “But this is preposterous. There is a criminal mind out there which, even now, is glorying in what it has done.”

  “But how can you know that?” interrupted Louis.

  “Because of the facts.”

  They were off, determinedly going at one another in an attempt to prove the other wrong. Very covertly, John and Emilia exchanged a secret look, then grinned. Meanwhile, the other two continued to argue boisterously, each determined to see the other go down. Eventually, though, a certain air of resignation crept into Louis’s tone and he suddenly said, “You are quite right, of course.”

  Serafina stopped with her mouth open. “What’s that you say?”

  “I said, ‘you’re quite right’.”

  She rapidly rethought her reply and came up with, “Strangely, I was just going to say the same to you.”

  “Were you now?”

  There was definitely a catch in his voice which indicated a laugh and, after looking at one another once again, Emilia and John tittered. The stage was set for Serafina and awaited her grand exit, stage right. She made it.

  “Excuse me Emilia, gentlemen. I must go and see to my affairs. If you will forgive me for a few moments.”

  And with that she swept out. There was a rush of good humour in her absence and John said, “Ah well, we live and learn.” To which both Emilia and Louis said simultaneously, “What do you mean by that?”

  But the tension had been broken and they all fell to laughing and joking until one of the servants entered and said something beneath his breath to the host.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said, Sir, that the old dame is in the kitchen. The one who professes to read the lines on your hand. You said next time she called that we were to show her in.”

  Louis looked puzzled, then his brow cleared. �
�Oh yes, I remember her. What a good thing she happened to come tonight. Please send her to us.”

  She was very small, admittedly, but this could have been caused by the fact that she was bent practically in half, some accident of long ago or, perhaps, some cramping complaint of the spine. Whichever, she shambled over to the table, and started to thank John but, when corrected, turned to Louis with great dignity. A hood hid most of her face and she kept a hand constantly at the ready, its purpose to pull the lining of the embracing garment should it slip back in any way. Her voice came from far away but seemed to have a strange French accent.

  She bent over Louis and started to mutter in his ear but he turned her away towards Emilia.

  “Hello, young lady,” she murmured. “Cross my palm with silver.”

  John leaned a little closer, determined to catch what was being said, though it wasn’t always easy.

  Emilia rubbed a silver coin, the largest she had, over the grimy hand. The woman spoke.

  “You’re afraid of summat… there’s a child, but she will survive you…”

  “Of course she will. But surely there are going to be more?”

  “I don’t know… look for the woman with two faces… look for when the sun is red… look for…”

  Her voice dropped to its lowest ebb and he strained, then gave up. Then, when he was turning away, losing interest, just about to suggest another drink to Louis, there came a tugging at his sleeve.

  “Hello, young Sir. Cross my palm with silver, then.”

  He could never afterwards tell why he was so attracted, what it was about her that seemed to weave this compulsive spell, why he needed to have his fortune read by her so urgently. But whatever it was, the charm had an almost inescapable symmetry. He bent low over the figure.

  “Go on then, what do you see?”