Death in the Valley of Shadows (10 page)

“You take it correctly.”

“Then why not go now, Sir? Before Mrs. Rawlings returns. In that way everybody will be satisfied and no harm done.”

John stroked his chin, an old habit when thinking. “You’re right as usual. There’s only one snag. I want to visit the Comte and Comtesse de Vignolles while I’m in Surrey but I’m completely unsure of their present whereabouts. I mean are they in town or country?”

“Should I go round to Hanover Square and make enquiries? I fancy a night in London to be honest with you and would like a good excuse.”

The Apothecary looked at the clock. “It is getting rather late but let me pen a swift note to the Comtesse which you can deliver if she is home. If not, I will write to her tomorrow, then follow up with a visit.”

“We mustn’t be away too long though, Sir. I reckon Mrs. Rawlings will be heading back very shortly now. I feel in my bones that that baby is anxious to enter the world.”

He left the room and John crossed to the writing desk, then paused a moment before he picked up his pen. Irish Tom’s words echoed in his head and he felt a sudden and exhilarating surge of excitement. His son or daughter was anxious to come into life, to know him and his friends, to be part of their circle and communicate with them as soon as he or she could. Swift tears came and he wept silently at the immense thought of the person, so very nearly born, who was coming to be part of all their futures and to take part in the great adventure that they were currently living.

Chapter Six

N
estling most improbably in the green Surrey countryside was a truly delightful Italian villa, Palladian in design, and which, though not large or pretentious, possessed its own small park, a lake like gleaming glass, formal gardens and meadowland, and an imposing, though short, drive. Fashionable to a degree, it could only belong to his friends the de Vignolles, John thought as Irish Tom clipped stylishly through the gates and made his way to the half-moon carriage sweep which lay directly below the two flights of steps leading to the front door. The Apothecary put his head out of the window to get a better look at the pretty little palace before he disembarked.

Though he had known the de Vignolles for many years, indeed since that time when he had stumbled across a body lying in the Dark Walk at Vaux Hall Pleasure Gardens, when he had also first met the Blind Beak - an unforgettable experience - their country home, Scottlea Park, was utterly new to John. But then, he considered, it has only been completed less than ten months ago and despite several invitations to inspect the new premises, the dates had not been convenient for him. But now he was here, uninvited, hoping that they would ask him to stay, hoping that from this base he could find out not only more about Mrs. Bussell but possibly the scandal surrounding Louisa and Lieutenant Mendoza. Joe, meanwhile, or so he had told John before they had parted company on the previous evening, was off to call on Mrs. Trewellan, who lived at a rather less fashionable address than her late suitor, namely in Liquorpond Street, Holbom, not so smart yet only a short walk from Bloomsbury Square down Theobalds Row and The Kings Way.

Irish Tom had returned from his visit to Hanover Square with the news that the Comte and Comtesse had left London for their country seat, and the Apothecary had made up his mind there and then that he must call on them on the following day, before Emilia came back to await the birth of her child. So early the next morning, after he had seen Nicholas leave to open the shop, he had written to Emilia telling her of his plan and asking her to join him at Nassau Street in four days time. Then he had set off, bag packed, hoping that he would be invited to stay in Surrey.

But there could be no doubt about that. The front door was flung open even as he was getting out of the coach and two small children, followed by their mother, came rushing down the steps to greet him.

“John,” said Serafina, “what a wonderful surprise. Have you come for several days? I do hope so.”

The Apothecary shot Irish Tom a brief grin. “Bring my bag into the house, would you.”

“Yes, Sorrh,” the coachman answered, leaping down from the box.

Italia, Serafina’s daughter, stretched up to her full height and pulled the Apothecary down to her level so that she could kiss him on the cheek, but the boy suddenly lost courage and hung back, clutching his mother’s hand, younger and shyer than his sister.

John bent down to him. “Well, little fellow, do I get a kiss as well?”

He was very solemn but very endearing, approaching cautiously, giving the Apothecary the cool dry kiss of childhood. Over the boy’s head, Serafina looked at John and smiled.

She was as stunning as ever, he thought, her tall, fine figure unaffected by childbearing, her unusual looks enhanced by maturity. Her hair swept up in the latest fashion still kept its rich hue, as yet unaffected by grey. But it was her mouth he had always adored, with its curving lips and slow spectacular smile. When she had been the Masked Lady, the most spoken-of gambler in town, hiding her features behind her customary covering, it had been her mouth he had fallen in love with. That and her husky voice. Now, when she spoke, he remembered those times with fondness, recalling the warmth that he had felt whenever he had been in her presence.

“John, my dear, this is such an unexpected pleasure. But where is Emilia? Surely you haven’t left her at a time like this.”

“She is in Kensington with my father and her mother. She will be back in four days time and after that I shall not leave her side until the baby is born. So now I am here for a few days holiday, if that is convenient to you.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “You are sure there is no business involved? No little errand that you are running for Sir John Fielding?”

He smiled crookedly. “Well, there might be.”

“I thought as much. Now, my dear, come in. Louis is out riding but will be back to dine. So when you have refreshed yourself we shall walk in the grounds a little. I know the children will want to show you their own small garden. Your godson, Jacques, is particularly keen on planting things and caring for them.”

“Jacques? Is that what you call him?”

Serafina laughed and slipped her arm through the Apothecary’s, pressing close to his side and making him feel immensely comfortable and at home.

“As you delivered the child into the world, we named him John, after you. But what with that and Sir John into the bargain, it all grew too confusing. So we called him Jack, which Louis insisted became Jacques. So there’s the story of your godson’s name.”

The little boy, who still held his mother’s hand while Italia, John’s other godchild, ran on ahead, looked up and spoke to Serafina in French.

“We have taught them both languages,” she said, smiling again. “Thank God that terrible war that has had the whole of Europe in uproar for the last seven years is over. So now travelling abroad will resume once more. Then to speak more than one language will be useful.”

“It is always useful,” John answered. “But I agree with you. I think visiting the Continent will become the height of fashion. I shall certainly go. I feel quite starved of travel.”

The Comtesse’s mouth curved up. “But you will be a family man, John. How will you manage? Will you take them all?”

He frowned. “Perhaps. I don’t know. I must confess that I hadn’t really thought about that.”

“How typical of a man. Well, you’ll have to start thinking, John. There are going to be three of you from now on.”

“Actually, I look forward to it. Rawlings and Son, Apothecaries.”

“And what if it is a girl?”

“There are no women apothecaries in England but that doesn’t prevent me teaching her all I know.”

“If she wants to learn, that is.”

“Of course.”

Serafina laughed. “Don’t look so serious, John. Whether she is scholarly or whether she is a little gadfly, she will still be delightful.”

“Provided she isn’t a boy.”

“Oh stop it,” she said, and nudged him in the ribs.

They walked round the lake, chattering and laughing, recalling old times and fond memories, the children running ahead of them. Eventually, though, the two adults sat down on a stone seat beneath a willow while the young people fed the swans with pieces of bread which they had brought with them especially.

“Well, my dear,” said Serafina, her beautiful mouth smiling, “why are you really here?”

He answered with another question. “You are only a few miles away from West Clandon. Do you know anyone who lives there?”

“Of course. It’s no distance from us.”

“And the people of Stoke d’Abemon village? Are you familiar with any of them?”

Serafina narrowed her eyes. “This, I take it, is connected to the little errand for Sir John Fielding?”

“You take correctly. The people I am interested in are the Bussells of Merrow Place and the Fenchurchs of Foxfire Hall, Stoke d’Abemon.”

The Comtesse pursed her lips. “Strangely, the name Fenchurch is familiar. Did I not read in the newspaper that a merchant of that name had been done to death by footpads?”

“You did.”

Serafina was a jump ahead. “But the Public Office believe that there is more to it than that. That is why you are here.”

“Utterly correct. There is evidence pointing to the fact that Fenchurch was killed by hired assassins. And there is other evidence linking Mrs. Bussell with the whole thing.”

And then because he knew her so well and trusted completely both her integrity and ability to keep her own counsel, John told the Comtesse everything, even to the dramatic reappearance of Louisa and Lieutenant Mendoza at the lying-in-state of her father.

“So the poor girl didn’t even know who was in the coffin?”

“No.”

“And had she eloped with the Lieutenant?”

“I rather imagine so but didn’t have time to ascertain. There were bodies everywhere.” John grinned naughtily. “That remark sounds in very poor taste but truly there were fainting females as well as the deceased.”

Serafina laughed, then frowned. “I’ve certainly heard of the Bussells. In fact I believe I was asked to dine by friends in West Clandon - the Onslows who live in Clandon House - and she was present. Is her name Ariadne and does she come from Bath?”

“Yes to both. What did you make of her?”

“I felt she wore two faces. One all smiles and laughs and another, much more ominous, lurking beneath. She’s not the type that I could make a friend of, or would want to for that matter.”

“I think she’s highly dangerous.”

“Did she murder her lover?”

“Yes, I think so. But the point is that she has left town and appears to have gone into hiding, Sir John is mustard sharp to interview her personally. I think he is hoping to break her story down and get a confession.”

“And will he?”

John slowly shook his head. “I don’t believe so. For all her silly accent and big grins, she’s as tough as an old hunting saddle.”

“Then she’ll get away with it?”

“More than likely. If it cannot be proved that the killers were hired men and, if they were, who hired them, then there is no case to answer.”

“I see. Well, my dear, we shall visit West Clandon tomorrow morning and take a good look round. We shall go in my carriage.”

“Do you mind taking me there?”

“On the contrary, I shall positively enjoy it,” said Serafina with relish.

The evening was pleasant, passed in the company of two such dear friends as Comte Louis and his wife; though over dinner, the host made an alteration to the earlier plan.

“I love to ride when I am out of town so shall you and I go to West Clandon on horseback, John? Serafina can follow in the coach.”

“Serafina can do no such thing. I’ll ride with you,” his wife replied.

This decided, they set off after an early breakfast, through the glades of Surrey that reached in an unbroken vista to the weald. To the east, in sweeps of woodland and copse, lay the downs and the villages of West and East Clandon, the de Vignolles’ residence being some five miles away. From the time of the Domesday survey, Clandon had always been two villages. the name coming from Clenedune, meaning clear of scrub. Thus, East Clandon had been Clenedune and West, Altera Clenedune. However, in the thirteenth century the names had changed to Clandon Abbatis for East and Clandon Regis for West, one being under the patronage of the church and the other under the patronage of the crown. Now, the two villages were simply West and East.

As they climbed a small hill, Serafina pointed. “There, that’s Clandon House, where our friends the Onslows live.”

“And Merrow Place?”

“I presume it must be that other large house on the far side of the village.” Serafina shaded her eyes with her hand. “There’s someone at home. Look, there’s smoke rising from the chimneys.”

“Yes,” said John, and sat very still for a moment, his horse not moving either, echoing his mood. Something, his instinct for trouble perhaps, told him that he was about to discover an important fact.

“What is it?” asked Louis, sensing his friend’s change of mood.

“I have the uncanny feeling that she’s there. Mrs. Bussell I mean. Lying low. Not letting herself be seen.”