Death in the West Wind (35 page)

“Good morning to you,” said the Apothecary politely.

“I don’t see much good about it,” the quay master answered gloomily. “I mention the fact that I attended this inn two weeks ago and immediately I am treated like a criminal. I tell you, Mr. Rawlings, that I did not murder that wretched girl. Oh, that I had never set eyes on her,” he added theatrically.

“I imagine there are quite a few gentlemen thinking the same thing,” John said drily.

“But none so sad as I. My wife has heard rumours about my liaison and is starting to act in an intolerable manner. She has even begun to contradict me.”

“Gracious.”

“I just wish that the wretched killer would be caught and we can all be left in peace.”

“Don’t worry,” said John, giving the quaymaster a most sinister smile, “the net is closing in on him - fast.”

Thomas’s Adam’s apple bobbed but he said nothing further until they had reached the inn and the horses and the carriage had been removed to the stables. Then he attempted a jaunty manner. “Shall I lead the way?”

“Please do. Neither Emilia nor myself know the place at all.”

The quay master opened the door, taking them into a corridor from which led several other doors. At a glance John could see how accurate the Marchesa’s description had been. It would be perfectly possible to sit in a snug and be totally unaware of anyone sitting in one of the others.

“Which room were you in on that Tuesday, Mr. Northmore?”

“This,” said the quay master, and threw open the first door on the left. The Apothecary gaped, for sitting inside, his head in his hands, racked with sobs, was none other than Jan van Guylder. Positive that the last person the Dutchman would want to see was the one John was standing next to, he motioned Northmore towards another room.

“Go in there and try to find the girl that served you,” he whispered. “Emilia, come with me.”

They stepped into the snug, finding themselves in a small dark room with a log fire burning in a somewhat undersized grate. Other than for the grieving man, it was empty.

“Mr. van Guylder,” the Apothecary said in a quiet voice.

Jan looked up, startled, his face blotchy with weeping. “What are you doing here?”
 

“I’ve come as part of our investigations. But may I ask the same of you?”

“I wanted to see where Juliana spent her last few hours on earth. Poor wretched girl.” He held out a hand in a pleading gesture. “John, I didn’t kill my child. I loved her for all her bad behaviour. It wasn’t really her fault, you know. The loss of her mother was what caused all the trouble. Poor, poor Juliana.” He wept again.

It was Emilia who went to him. Taking a seat beside him and putting her arm round his shoulders, she produced a dainty handkerchief and gave it to Jan. “Here, use this. Dry your eyes. I would so like to talk to you. My father was murdered, you know, and I feel that we have much in common.”

John was lost in admiration. She had said something that had drawn the Dutchman’s attention away from himself, and after stealing a glance at her to see if she was in earnest, he had dried his eyes as instructed.

Deciding that to leave them alone for a while might well be the best policy, John signalled to his wife that he was going and went off in search of Thomas Northmore.

He found him in a somewhat lighter snug with a fine view over the river. As the Apothecary went in, Thomas was in earnest conversation with a pot girl but he looked up as he heard the door open.

“Ah, the very man. Now, Suky, tell the gentleman what you remember.”

The girl looked nervous. “Mr. Northmore often comes in for an ale, Sir.”

John decided that kindness was the best approach. “I’m sure he does, my dear. But can you tell me if he was in here recently, about two weeks ago, on a Tuesday?”

“Oh yes, Sir. He was here.”

The answer was far too pat and prompt, the poor creature had clearly been bribed. “And how much did he give you for saying that?”

“A shilling, Sir. Ooh!” She clapped her hands over her mouth, realising what she had said.

“You’re a fool, Mr. Northmore,” John stated angrily. “I believe you were probably telling the truth but now you have to go and spoil it all. You are the sort who absolutely invites suspicion.”

The quay master went white. “I swear to God I didn’t see Juliana that day. I beg you to believe me.”

The Apothecary turned to the girl. “Tell me something, Suky. Do you remember a very beautiful young lady coming in here, a young lady with fair hair? She would have been in company with two young men, a Mr. Digby-Duckworth and a Mr. Hood. Did you see them at all?”

Her answer was prompt. “Yes, Sir. I do remember them, very well indeed. I had seen the gentlemen before but never the lady.”

“Can you recall anything they said?”

“We were busy that day and I didn’t have much time for eavesdropping.”

“But while you were serving them,” John asked encouragingly.

“They said something about taking the boat out.”

“The boat? Did they say where it was kept?”

“The only thing I heard them say was Red Rock.”

John looked blank. “What does that mean?”
 

Suky smiled, clearly feeling more relaxed. “Why, bless you, it’s a place, Sir. Where the river bends round. Not far from here.”

“Is there a boathouse there?”

Northmore spoke up, glad that the pressure was off him, if only temporarily. “There’s a rather ruinous one. I believe it used to belong to the Thornes. It’s not that far from Wildtor Grange as the crow flies.”

“Well, you can make amends by taking me there.” John got to his feet. “Now don’t stir from your seat. I’ll be right back.”

He strode out of the snug, leaving the quay master looking both nervous and penitent. Despite his grim expression, the Apothecary felt elated by this latest turn of events, certain that the vessel which had taken Juliana out to the
Constantia
was about to be revealed.

Jan and Emilia were sitting where he had left them, this time with a glass before each of them from which they occasionally sipped. The Dutchman had stopped crying and was listening intently to every word John’s wife was saying, obviously finding at long last someone who could empathise with the terrible situation in which he found himself. They stopped their conversation as the Apothecary came in.

“Please don’t let me interrupt. Emilia something of great importance has happened which means that I will have to leave you for a while. Jan, could you be a good fellow and look after my wife for an hour or so?”

A hint of the courtly man they had first met reappeared. Jan got to his feet and gave a stiff little bow. “Sir, it will be my pleasure. She will be perfectly safe with me.”

“Emilia, do you mind?”

“Of course not. I am so enjoying talking to Mr. van Guylder. I think perhaps we will go for a walk by the river if the sunshine continues.”

“I would like that very much,” Jan answered, using John’s same words.

Pleased that his wife was doing the bereaved man so much good and appreciating how clever and tactful she was, John returned to Thomas Northmore, who appeared not to have moved a muscle since he had left.

“Right, we’ll go now. Time is of the essence.”

“Certainly,” said the quay master, and bustled out, conspicuously trying to make up for earlier misdeeds.

Beyond the inn the river ran straight for a little way, then looped round, and it was on the bend of the loop that John saw what he had come for. A dilapidated boathouse, very run down and in need of repair, stood there, its doors firmly closed against the world. John started towards it then reined his horse in, motioning Northmore to do likewise, as the sound of approaching hooves became distinctly audible.

“Keep quiet,” he hissed at the quay master, “I want to get a look at him before he sees us.”

Then he nearly fell off his horse as a familiar figure came into view. Dressed in her man’s clothes, Elizabeth di Lorenzi appeared from out of the trees, riding straight up to the boathouse, swinging easily from the saddle, then disappearing from sight as she walked round the ruinous building.

John turned to the quay master. “You can go.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said you can go. I shall report everything that has happened to Mr. Jago but for the time being there is nothing further I have to say to you.”

Thomas Northmore opened his mouth then closed it again, said, “In that case good day,” and disappeared as fast as the boring horse could carry him.

Somewhat amused, John dismounted and walked towards the boathouse, very quietly calling Elizabeth’s name. Then he rounded a corner and found himself staring straight down the barrel of a pistol. He put his hands in the air. “I’m not armed.”

Her eyes widened. “What are you doing here?”

“The same as you I imagine. The pot girl in the inn told me that this place was mentioned on the day Juliana was last seen. I’ve come to have a look at it.”

The Marchesa put her gun away. “It’s in use, John. I’m sure that there’s a boat in there that belongs to the Angels. The one they use for smuggling.”

“And the one they used to transport Juliana to the
Constantia
I shouldn’t wonder.”

“Let’s go inside.”

“It’s bound to be locked.”

“There’re not many locks that can resist an accurate shot from a pistol.”

“What a woman you are,” said John, laughing, and wished that the fatal fascination she held for him would go away for once and for all.

A moment later the lock was a mess of twisted metal and the doors were already starting to open as John and Elizabeth heaved at them. As they finally swung back, the Marchesa paused in the entrance.

“What’s that smell?”

“Urine — and blood.”

“My God, why?”

But the Apothecary already knew, with a certainty that made his stomach wrench. “I don’t think you’d better come in.”

“Why not?”

“Because I believe that this is the place where Juliana died.”

Elizabeth turned stricken eyes on him. “John, I must see it for myself. I have sworn to be the avenging angel to their demonic ones. What I witness will only strengthen me in my resolve.”

“I beg you, please don’t enter.”

“But I insist.”

“Very well.”

Together they crept forward into the darkness, their eyes gradually adjusting to the dimness within. It seemed huge as a cavern, for it was a big boathouse, built out over the river on stilts, able to accommodate quite a large vessel. And this indeed it did. As his vision became more and more accustomed to the gloom, the Apothecary made out the outlines of a long boat with five seats athwart, giving enough space for a rowing team of ten, which meant that the entire ship could hold at least a dozen men.

Alongside the boat was built a wooden jetty on which were piled ropes and barrels and various nautical artefacts. But it was not to these that John’s eyes were drawn, but to the far end of the jetty where stood the boathouse wall. Attached to this wall were the doors leading to the river, through which the boat would be launched, and hanging from it were a pair of chains, secured at shoulder height. Even at a distance they seemed horribly reminiscent of the kind of manacles used to secure prisoners in a cell. With his heart pounding, John, with a terrible kind of reluctance, made his way towards them.

There was blood splashed upon the brick, and another pool of it on the decking floor. There was also another dried pool where whoever had been secured had lost control of their bladder while they were being beaten. This much was obvious, for the whip responsible for the blood lay casually tossed into a corner like a toy with which a child had grown bored. There was also something else in the corner, something which brought the bile into the Apothecary’s mouth to see. An old mattress, stained with blood and the whiteness of dried semen, lay slightly removed from the whip, beside it a man’s breeches, also stained with seminal fluid.

“So this is where they raped and beat her to death,” said Elizabeth in a voice that did not even sound like hers.

“Mr. Fielding would tell me that is only conjecture but my gut tells me yes, this is the place.”

“I swear to God I’ll kill them all.”

John shook his head. “No Elizabeth. Only those responsible must die. If the Angels are Gerald Fitz and his mob, I do not believe they are all capable of such an act. Besides, you must stop taking the law into your own hands.”

“Why? Why should I?”

“Because you put yourself in danger. Justice could be meted out on you as well.”

“I don’t think I would care very much about that.”

The Apothecary turned to face her. “No, but I would care.”

“For what reason?”

“Don’t ask me that in a torture chamber like this. Simply accept the fact that I would.”
 

She laughed humourlessly. “Then what are we going to do about these evil people?”

“We are going to trap them. Do you want to hear how?”