Death in the West Wind (32 page)

She sat down on the bed angrily, then suddenly started to cry. With his conscience raging because of the deadly allure that Elizabeth di Lorenzi held for him, the Apothecary could have wept as well. Kneeling before her, he put his arms round his wife, comforting her as if she were a child.

“I do love you, sweetheart. I will drop the case now if it will make you happy.”

She looked at him through streaming tears. “But if you do, you will always resent me for asking.”

“No I won’t. I would understand.”

“Would you? Would you really? Oh John, I don’t know what to do. I’ve never been a wife before.”

“Nor I a husband. It’s not easy, is it?” he answered heavily.

She laughed a little at that. “My mother said there would be tears along the way.”

Oh darling, he said helplessly, and kissed her, somewhat damply. Elizabeth’s face came to haunt him but he pushed it away ruthlessly. “Kiss me again,” he asked hopefully.

Emilia did so and then it was the easiest thing in the world to lie back on the bed and indulge in the oldest healing magic of all.

“I know what we should do today,” John whispered into his wife’s ear.

“What?” she whispered back.

“This,” he answered, and pulled her down beneath the sheets.

*
 
*
 
*

“So Mrs. Rawlings was quite happy that you should come with me?” asked Joe Jago.

John gave a cat-like grin. “We have discussed the whole matter and she is totally in agreement that I should complete this case.”

“Well, thank God for that, Sir. I thought this morning that you might well be leaving us.”

“So did I frankly.”

“But you talked your way out of it?”

“Yes,” said John, and grinned again.

They were sitting by a window in the Passage Inn, from which spot they could clearly observe the quay master’s house and all the comings and goings therein. So far, however, there had been no sign of Thomas Northmore, only of his nervously scuttling wife. Yet John fervently hoped the man wouldn’t be late. Peace had been restored between himself and Emilia but he did not want to push his luck by causing further trouble. When he had gone out, following dinner, he had said he would be an hour and not much more, and this was a promise that he intended to keep. Surreptitiously, the Apothecary looked at his watch.

“He shouldn’t be long,” said Joe, seeing the movement.

“Is there time for another drink?”

“I should think so.”

“Then let’s toast the recovery of Dmitri and Sarah.”

The couple had lived. Old Saul had been as good as his word and kept the night’s vigil with them, probably invoking Red Indian magic while he did so. But whatever ritual he had enacted had been successful. Against all the odds, the pair had regained consciousness. In the morning, so Joe had told John, the doctor had come and professed himself amazed to find them not only alive but recovering.

“There’s more in that man’s medicine than I care to admit,” the physician had confessed to Joe.

“I believe that,” John said now as the clerk repeated the remark. “I must write down Old Saul’s remedies before I quit Devon. He has told me so much that I really need to take written note in case I forget.”

“A sensible idea, Sir. By the way, I’ve left Runner Raven at the house, along with the old fellow. I’ve a feeling that the widow and the Russian might still be in danger from an outside source.”

John nodded but said nothing, a vague idea now beginning to take definite shape in his mind.

Joe stared out of the window then made a small sound of triumph. “He’s here, the old bastard. Let’s give him ten minutes then go in.”

“That would suit me perfectly.”

Joe rubbed his hands together and winked. “But will it suit him I ask myself.”

“I very much doubt it,” answered John, and laughed.

*
 
*
 
*

He was not pleased to see them, that much was certain. Thomas Northmore flashed his whalebone teeth, carefully restored to their former glory, in a snarl, and led his visitors into the parlour without saying a word.

“Now what is it?” he asked wearily. “I’ve told you all I know.”

Joe Jago came straight to the point. “It’s about your visit to Juliana van Guylder when she was lodging in Exeter. You said you thought the child she was expecting was yours. Yet my feeling is that she stopped having sexual relations with you some months hack. So how is this possible?”
 

Thomas lowered his voice. “I’ve already told you. We were still intimate.”

“I don’t believe you. Subsequent information leads me to assume she had met someone else with whom she had genuinely fallen in love. I think she had already dropped you. So why did you give her money?”

The quay master wrestled with himself, obviously longing to keep his image as a great lover intact yet probably realising that it would be safer to tell the truth.

“All right,” he said eventually, “she had left me for someone younger and richer than I, a callow boy.”

“Did she tell you his name?”

“No. But the child was not his. She told me that it was mine, that she was several months pregnant and it had been conceived at our last encounter.” He looked coy. “She said she needed to go to a physician in Exeter but that it would cost money. She said that she must do this or her new lover would not accept her.”

John and Joe exchanged a look of pure amazement, both thinking of Sir Bartholomew Digby-Duckworth’s immense glee at the thought of being a father. So Juliana had just wanted money to spend on gowns. The Apothecary, who did not like the quay master at all, suddenly felt very sorry for him.
 

“Did you kill her?” asked Joe in a quiet, even voice.

“Certainly not. How dare you even suggest it.”

“Because it would make perfect sense. An elderly lover jilted for a younger man is just the sort of person to lose his temper and kill the former object of his affections.”

Thomas Northmore went purple in the face with fury, indeed he started to tremble with rage. “How dare you! How dare you!” he shouted, teeth gnashing.

“Don’t upset yourself,” Mr. Fielding’s clerk answered calmly. “These questions are routine in a case of murder.”

Thomas exploded into speech. “Damn your accusations and damn you, Sir. I’ll have you know that I am not elderly, by God. The fact is that I am in the very prime of my life.”

“Oh dear, oh dear, whatever next,” said John Rawlings and lowered the tone of the entire proceedings by starting to laugh.

17

T
he fine weather had returned and as they approached Sidmouth they saw that the sea and the sky had performed that magical trick of blending into one, obscuring the horizon into a brush-stroke, turning the whole of that glorious seascape into a bowl of immensely delicate blue china.

“It really is entrancing here,” said Emilia. “I shall miss Sidmouth when we have gone.”

John could have replied that twenty-four hours ago she was bored to sobs with the whole place and was tired of walking the beach and collecting shells, but he was learning, or trying to.

“It was so kind of you to offer to befriend the women in this case. I am sure Sarah Mullins will be delighted to see you. She has had a very hard life, you know, and yesterday was within an inch of losing it.”

“Poor thing. Who would do such a thing to a harmless female?”

“Someone who was ruthless enough to rape and beat Juliana to death.”

Emilia shivered. “Will you catch him?”

“Yes. I think he is on the point of betraying himself.”

“I hope you won’t be in any danger.”

“With Joe and the Runners to protect me I hardly think that that will be the case.”

“I pray not. I’m still not used to being a wife, let alone a widow.”

“I can assure you,” said John, with a twisted smile, “that I intend to be around a great deal longer yet.”

They had driven across the wild heathland, passing within distant sight of Wildtor Grange, and now had started the descent into the fishing hamlet. On every side of them, encouraged by the sunshine, daffodils had opened in abundance, so that the track seemed to weave through a carpet of yellow, while the air was filled with the sound of birds” voices. John thought he had never known a lovelier spring in his life and called to Irish Tom to stop the coach for a moment so that they might look around them.

“Do you like wild Devon?” he said to his bride.

“It is a place to which I will always return,” she answered simply, and took his hand as the carriage slowly trundled forward again and they heard the wild high call of the sea.

It seemed that Old Saul was still maintaining his vigil, for he answered the door to the little cottage nestling beneath the cliffs.

“Oh, it’s you, my friend,” he said to John. “I thought it might be the man from Bow Street.”

“He called on you, I believe.”

“Yes, and he left one of his men here. He seemed to think that Sarah and Dmitri could be attacked again.”

“They might well. Where is the Runner?”

“Asleep in my place. He was awake all night so is snatching a few winks now. He told me to shout for him at the slightest sign of trouble.”

“And Mr. Jago and the other Runner?”

“Asking questions in Sidmouth about who saw what and when.”

“Did you tell them about the gaffer from Exeter?”

“I certainly did. After they’ve finished here they plan to go into the city to see if they can identify his coach.”

“What exactly was written on its side?”

“There was a coat of arms and some Latin words. It said something about sickness.”

“Extraordinary,” said John, shaking his head.

Emilia interrupted. “Shouldn’t you be looking at the invalids?”

“Of course I should.” John picked up his apothecary’s bag. “How are they this morning, Saul?”

“Much improved. Some while ago a sailor brought me some Moringa and from the plant I compounded an oil. There is nothing like it for rapidly healing wounds.”

“What recipe did you use?”

“Wax, ox fat, honey, barley, the oil and a little pulped leaves of Herb Robert. I boiled all together, made a poultice, and have bandaged them up with it. They will have healed in a few days, mark my words.”

John put his bag down again. “Is there any point in my taking this?”

“If you have a good tonic in there I am sure they would much appreciate it.”

The Apothecary laughed. “You make me feel like a novice, Saul.”

“Only because you are younger than I,” the older man answered kindly. “Now, Sir, which of them would you like to see first? I thought they might heal better if they had separate quarters so Dmitri is in my house — in my bed in fact.”

“Then I think a quick look at Sarah, after which I’ll leave her in the company of my wife. It is the man that I really need to talk to. Is he up to answering questions?”

Old Saul shook his head. “Not really. But I know the matter’s urgent so he’ll have to put up with it. After all, he’s young and strong.” John turned to Emilia. “Let me examine Sarah privately, then I’ll call you up. You won’t mind sitting with her, will you?”

“I told you I wanted to be involved.”

He kissed her cheek. “It’s good of you to offer help.”

The wounded woman lay on her bed, as pale as the linen surrounding her, her flaming hair almost shocking against the white pillow that framed her face. Round her head where she had been so savagely hit, Old Saul had wound bandages, so that she looked like some extraordinary Egyptian relic, a body being prepared for mummification. Therefore it was almost a shock when the bright blue eyes opened suddenly and she stared at John, first in terror, then more calmly as recognition returned.

He sat on the end of the bed. “Sarah, how are you feeling?”

She could hardly speak but a faint whisper came in reply. “I lived, Sir, and for that God be thanked.”

“I won’t bother you with a lot of questions, just tell me one thing. Did you see who attacked you?”

“I caught a glimpse of him, yes. He was clad all in white and had a veiled hat upon his head which made his face invisible.”

“The Society of Angels.” John answered. “It was one of them.”

“I think it must have been, Sir.”

“But you saw nothing of him, nothing that could be used to identify the man?”