The Apothecary (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 3)

by Mary Kingswood

  Before long, Annie came to the river, the willows rustling together like laundry maids gossiping. In a patch of sunshine butterflies clustered around late-flowering clumps of milk parsley and cranesbill. The river was high after the rain, rushing onwards between the banks, deep and fast-flowing. Annie breathed deeply, enjoying the respite from her darker cares. One day, far in the future, she would bring her child here to enjoy the river, to chase butterflies and to pick clouds of sweet-smelling riverbank flowers. The thought made her smile with delight as she walked. Her child! She would be a mother, as she had always wished.

  She was unused to meeting anyone else there, so it was a surprise to find the under-gardener bending over the river-bank, a knife in his hand.

  “Good morning, Davy. You are a long way from the gardens today.”

  He turned sharply, an almost guilty look on his face. “Oh… madam… I… I didn’t know you came here at this time of day.”

  “No, I usually take my walk later in the day. What are you doing?”

  “Just… just cuttin’ a few reeds, madam.” He stood, showing her a few in his hand. Then, in a rush, he went on, “There’s a girl in the village weaves with them… baskets and such like. She asked me—”

  “That is quite all right, Davy. We have plenty to spare, but I should not like you to neglect your other duties. Does Mr Dewey know where you are?”

  “Oh, yes, madam. He sent me to pick blackberries. I just thought… since I was here…”

  “Of course, but next time be sure to ask Mr Dewey’s permission to cut reeds. You will find plenty of ripe berries in the hazelnut copse.”

  “Yes, madam. Thank you, madam.”

  He picked up his basket and fled, making her smile ruefully. Davy was perhaps no more than fifteen or sixteen, and still young enough to be embarrassed about being caught in the most trivial misdemeanour. Still young enough, too, to be misled into trouble by the smile and pretty face of a village girl. She hoped he was reassured that he was not in imminent danger of being turned off without a character.

  Annie walked a little way along the path until she reached her seat, still slightly damp from the rain. She had on her thick woollen cloak, so she sat and watched the river, and Lady Charlotte’s house in the distance, the chimneys smoking gently in the autumn sunshine, and reflected on her brief, troubled marriage. She would always be grateful to Mr Huntly for making her his wife, but she was relieved to be free of him. Now the future was hers to make, both for her child and for her own happiness.

  And in a way that she found quite inexplicable, that brought her thoughts back to Adam.

  20: Betrayal

  As Annie walked back towards the kitchen garden she encountered Captain Edgerton, alone.

  “Good morning, Captain. Have you lost my cousin?”

  He made her a sweeping bow in his flamboyant way. “Not at all. He has merely returned to Wickstead Manor in order to bring Master Jerome here. Apparently there would be a riot of epic proportions if he neglected to fulfil this duty. Mrs Huntly, have you been out walking all alone? I do not wish to alarm you, but there is still a murderer at large.”

  “You consider that there is still some risk?”

  “Until the fellow is caught and his motives understood, there is always some risk. It would be prudent to take a companion on your walks for the present, until the investigation is complete and Sir Leonard is satisfied that there is no further cause for concern.”

  “I understand. And have your own investigations this morning proved to be fruitful?”

  He fell into step beside her and they walked through the arch into the walled garden. “Not as fruitful as they might have been, for although we could follow the route your husband must have taken on his last journey, we could not identify the place of attack.”

  “Oh! Adam does not know?”

  “He does not. He knew nothing of the event until the next day, by which time the… erm, the scene had been cleared. There is nothing now to suggest where it might have occurred. We identified three places that looked likely, places where an assailant might lurk out of sight awaiting his quarry, but we could not agree on the best one. I was all for the thick bushes near the Manor, but Huntly’s vote was for the point where the path veers towards the river.”

  “Sir Leonard would be able to tell you, or perhaps Sheffield. I believe he was involved in recovering my husband’s body.”

  “Then, if you have no objection, I shall apply to Sheffield.”

  He rushed off enthusiastically to do so as soon as they reached the house. Annie went upstairs to remove her cloak and bonnet, and then returned downstairs. It was the hour when she had been accustomed to practise on the instrument, but it was still too early in her mourning for music, she felt. She was not minded for needlework, yet no more did the accounts appeal. She would read, she decided. Her uncle had brought her a treatise on diseases of the lungs which he thought might be of interest, and she had not yet cut the pages. Now she was in the right frame of mind for it.

  She found Mr Willerton-Forbes in the hunting room, studying a book. “Ah! Mrs Huntly! I was just referring to your copy of Paterson for the times of the packet to Ireland, but I find that the Holyhead to Howth packet leaves every morning. That is good. I have written to my colleague Mr Neate, who is in Dublin at this very moment on some other business, and have charged him to go to Kilcarlow to meet Mrs Connell and find out from her just why she told me her son was unmarried. She lied to my face, Mrs Huntly, and I do not take kindly to that. She was not under oath, but nevertheless the question of next of kin is a legal matter, and honesty is required.”

  “Is it possible that the marriage was not, in fact, legal?” Annie said tentatively.

  “Ah,” Mr Willerton-Forbes said softly. “You are astute, madam. There is that possibility, it is true. I have seen Mrs Herbert Huntly’s marriage lines and I have written to the officiating clergyman to confirm the details. Mrs Huntly was underage, too, so there is the question of consent and also… Hmm, one does not like to suggest such a thing of a respectable widow, but the legitimacy of birth of both parties must be addressed. One can never take such things for granted.”

  This line of thought reminded Annie of James Huntly, and here was the ideal opportunity to obtain a legal opinion from a lawyer. Accordingly, she showed him the family Bible, and also the letter from Mrs Connell stating that James was her husband’s child, and in any event was dead.

  “How interesting!” the lawyer cried. “Families are so fascinating, do you not agree? Always more complicated than one might suppose. On the question of who fathered the boy, in English law it is irrelevant. Mr Henry Huntly was still legally married to his wife, and he acknowledged the child as his in the Bible, therefore he is a legitimate heir. The legality of the marriage has already been proved by the successful application of the entail to Mr Herbert Huntly and to your husband. Therefore the law would recognise James Huntly as an heir, were he still alive. But if you wish it, I shall amend my letter to Mr Neate and he will obtain the exact date of death for you, so that you may add it to the Bible.”

  Annie accepted with gratitude. She did not mention her theory that James Huntly might be still alive and stalking her family with pistols, but to her surprise, Mr Willerton-Forbes himself bolstered the idea, frowning as he reread Mrs Connell’s letter.

  “It is curious that this line about the child being dead is so obviously added later,” he said thoughtfully. “If the lady had so little compunction in lying to my face, I daresay she would not have hesitated to lie in writing, also. I wonder whether the boy did not in fact die in infancy, but is alive and well. And if so, he would be a very strong candidate for our murderer.”

  ~~~~~

  They sat down eleven for dinner that evening. All the Huntly brothers were there, in return for their hospitality at Wickstead Manor, and Annie had recklessly invited Mr and Mrs Popham. It was too soon to be entertaining in the regular way, but feeding the clergyman and his wife would attract
no censure, and Annie wished to show her gratitude for Mrs Popham’s tireless visiting. She had taken no notice of the convention for reciprocity in morning calls, and Annie had been very glad of her company, having no other callers. Before too long it would be permissible to send out her cards and begin making and receiving calls, and how she longed for that day! She loved Willow Place and all the beauty of the house and grounds, but it was a lonely place for a woman with few friends. She would welcome even the gentle round of visits that the local society afforded.

  Adam seemed a little subdued that evening, not his usual joking self, and when he attempted a jest, it seemed forced. Happily the company’s need for amusement was filled by Captain Edgerton, who, by an unfortunate chance, was seated next to Jerome at table. The captain charitably sought to entertain the boy with some of his inexhaustible fund of exotic tales, but it was not enough for Jerome to sit and listen quietly. No, he wished to know the exact length of the snake and its width and why it took so long to digest its prey and the precise arrangement of colours on its skin. Or else he enquired with intense interest into the height of the elephant and the speed at which it was travelling and the precise curvature of its tusks. And then he was curious about the size of the tiger and how fast it was running. It was this latter point which sank the captain finally.

  “You see, sir,” Jerome said earnestly, “if the tiger was as large as a small horse and moving as fast as you say, then I do not see that it could have been stopped. Every moving object has a thing called momentum which carries it forward, or so Mr Crick says. He teaches at my school, and he knows about these things. One may see how it works if one attempts to catch a cricket ball moving at great speed and one’s hand is pushed backwards very hard. Mr Crick says that the momentum of bodies depends on the quantum of their velocity multiplied by that of their matter, so if the tiger were very large and heavy, and leaping very fast, it could not be stopped, sir. Or so it seems to me.”

  “But its head was blown off. That would stop it, would it not?” the captain said.

  “It would certainly give it pause for thought,” Benedict said, to a ripple of laughter.

  “No, it would not stop it,” Jerome said, ignoring his brother’s interruption. “Not once it was flying through the air and was as close to the gun as you say. I think perhaps you may be mistaken about some of the details of your story, Captain. Although it is a very good story, and you tell it very well,” he added politely.

  The company looked expectantly at the captain. He opened his mouth, shut it again, frowned, then shook his head with a rueful laugh. “You are a very clever young man, and I believe you have bested me, Master Huntly. Nevertheless, there was a large tiger who did leap directly at the lady with the gun who—”

  “A lady!” Jerome said disgustedly. “Now I know you are telling a plumper, Captain Edgerton. Ladies do not shoot tigers.”

  “This one did,” the captain said, more confidently. “Tiger Blythe, everyone called her, and what a woman she was in those days! She is almost respectable nowadays, having married the brother of a marquess and settled in Yorkshire.”

  “There are no tigers in Yorkshire,” Jerome said solemnly.

  “True, although the marquess can become quite fierce if crossed, so I am informed.”

  “I hope she does not shoot him, then,” Jerome said. “Are there any more of the fried artichokes, Edwin?”

  Mr Popham, who was on Captain Edgerton’s other side, diplomatically asked a question about the food in India and rescued Captain Edgerton from the uncompromising interrogation of a twelve-year-old boy with a scientific bent.

  After dinner, no one quite liked to propose cards in a house of mourning, so the party broke up early, the Pophams, Edwin and Jerome in Adam’s carriage while Adam and Benedict rode.

  The next day being Sunday, Annie and her mother stayed quietly at home again, but Judith, her daughters and the visitors squeezed into the carriage to go to church. Only the females returned thus, however, Mr Willerton-Forbes and Captain Edgerton electing to walk back from Wickstead. Since they travelled along the path Mr Huntly had taken on the fateful day, and it took them almost two hours, Annie surmised that they were again searching for clues as to the place where the murder had taken place. They said nothing about it, however, returning with serious faces and going straight upstairs to change their clothes, being rather damp and dishevelled, as if they had been scrabbling about under dripping bushes. Later, clearly finding Sunday pursuits indoors too tame for him, the energetic captain went out again, for ‘a long walk beside your beautiful River Durran’. But when he returned, he could not say where in particular he had walked or what he had seen. He was no observer of nature.

  Annie went early to her bed, although not from boredom. Quietude brought her ease, not restlessness, and even in a lively, chattering group she preferred to watch and listen and absorb the high spirits of the others more than to contribute herself. Sundays were always her favourite days, when everyone was as placid as she was, and there were no raised voices or clacking brooms or busyness.

  When her father had been alive, there had been the soothing routine of the Sabbath — the household gathered to read the psalms, then Morning Prayers in church, enlivened by the sermon with which her father had been wrestling all week, followed by dinner with two roasts and wine to toast the Lord, and finally the evening silent but for Papa’s gentle snores. Willow Place had something of the same tranquillity now that Mr Huntly was not there to recite sermons all day long. She had not noticed at the time how much he had talked, even when they worked side by side at their desks, his voice interrupting her thoughts constantly. Now she could be herself again.

  She slept deeply but woke suddenly in darkness, her heart racing. Something was wrong! What had woken her? But then a thumping sound made her smile. Only the window. Sliding out of bed and padding across the room, the rug smooth and soft under her bare toes, she discovered that the window had slipped off its latch, leaving the casement to bang with every twist of the wind. Reaching across, she opened it wide and secured it in place again, taking a long breath of cool air. She smiled to remember how Mr Huntly had rebuked her for the smallest exposure to the harmful effects of night air. How he would frown to see her now, standing beside an open window wearing only her nightgown! Yet the air was so fresh and invigorating, and not so cold at this season as to make her shiver.

  A slight movement in the darkness outside caught her eye. Her insides twisted in sudden fear. Was it the murderer, returning for her this time? Who else would be out there in the pre-dawn darkness except someone bent on mischief? She stared out until her eyes watered with the effort, but the night was inky black, with no moon or stars to cast even the feeblest glow. Surely she must have been mistaken…

  There is was again, something pale moving… no, not moving, that was just an illusion, she thought. But something was out there in the garden. Or someone.

  A sudden beam of light shocked her. A lantern… someone had uncovered a lantern. It fell on a face, a man in a shirt and loose coat. It was the same man she had seen many times before. He almost looked familiar to her, but that might just be a trick of the odd light. It could hardly be a man she knew. So he was the murderer — he must be, for why else would he be here, lurking about at night? No honest man had any business to be creeping round in the darkness.

  The light disappeared, the lantern hastily covered, no doubt. That, above all, told her that the man in the garden was up to no good, for anyone with a legitimate purpose to be out on such a dark night would light his way openly.

  A second light, stronger, and falling on another face, another man who—

  Adam!

  She gasped as she recognised him. How could she not know him? His face was so familiar to her, so reassuring in its usual guise of warm, smiling friendship. But he was not her friend, rather he was her enemy. He was working with the murderer… he might even be the murderer himself! Dear God! How could she protect herself from a man who
ran tame in the house, who was family?

  Quickly she drew back from the window in case he should look up and see her. Her heart was thundering and she could hardly breathe. She paced across the room, across the rug and onto the cool wooden floor, then back again, her arms hugging herself as if to offer to tiny shred of comfort.

  How could she have been so wrong about anyone? She had trusted him, and he had betrayed her. Either he was a murderer himself or he was working with the murderer. She could scarcely believe that her judgement had been so faulty. Once again she had been deceived by polished manners and a smooth exterior, knowing nothing of the man inside.

  But wait… this was not how her father and her uncle had taught her. She needed to consider the problem rationally. Was it possible that there was a benign explanation for this?

  She sat down at her dressing table to consider the question. What did she know for certain? The first man, the unknown man who looked oddly familiar, had been lurking around for many weeks, even before Rupert’s death. He had stood in the garden near the shrubbery in the early morning — it would have been June when she first saw him, so it must have been four or five o’clock. She jumped up to check the mantel clock — a quarter past five, so a similar time. He had not moved about, but simply stood and watched her window… no, she could not be certain he was watching her window. It could have been Rupert’s window… or any window, or none, she admitted punctiliously. He appeared to be watching the house, that was as much as she could say with assurance.

  As for Adam… there had only been this one glimpse of him, but she had known him instantly. She could not be mistaken on the point. Nor did it matter that she had not seen him before, for once was enough. He was conspiring with the murderer— No, she must be honest. She did not know that either of them was connected to the murder. Nevertheless, all her suspicions were aroused.