Death in the West Wind (9 page)

“Oh he does,” Tobias answered seriously. “He is a widower but not old, so who could blame him?”

“You obviously know the family very well indeed.”

“Well, I am destined to become part of it.”

“Even down to sharing their darkest secrets?”

Tobias went crimson. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

*
 
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*

“That was terrible,” John remarked as he stepped into his coach. “If that chap is as innocent as he looks, then I have most cruelly deceived him.”

“Well you could hardly blurt out that his betrothed has met a grisly end and is currently lying in Exeter mortuary, now could you?”

“Not really.” John glanced at his watch. “I mustn’t be late back, Tom. I think I’ll visit the brothel then save the Fitzes for this evening when, finely dressed, Emilia and I might call. I have a feeling I would stand a better chance of being admitted that way.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Sir. But what if you find neither Mr. van Guylder or his son today? Will you be content to go home empty-handed?”

“I’ll be far from content but I think I have little choice. I don’t want my wife to lose all patience with me even before the honeymoon is over.”

“No, Sir, that would never do,” the coachman answered seriously as they trundled their way towards Blackboy Road and the house with The Sign of the Gartered Leg.

*
 
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*

In the event, they never got there. Whether he had been in for a visit or whether it was just by the merest chance John was not sure, but as they turned into the street where gentlemen took their pleasure, he saw Jan van Guylder striding towards their carriage, his eyes glazed and tears pouring down his cheeks. The Apothecary was on his feet in an instant, lowering the window and sticking his head out.

“Mr. van Guylder. Over here. It’s John Rawlings. I must have a word with you.”

Tom pulled the horses in and the carriage came to a stop. Jan, however, shook his head, applying his handkerchief to his eyes and making a motion with his arm which suggested pushing away. John ignored him and jumped down, fishing in his pocket for the smelling salts which he always carried.

“No, please no,” said the Dutchman from the depths of his hands, which he had placed over his face, apparently to conceal his public shame.

“Get a grip on yourself,” John said, as soothingly as he could. “There is much to get through today. Come, sit in the carriage with me.”

Van Guylder turned a tortured face in his direction. “What do you mean? Do you have news of my sinful daughter who has strayed from her home yet again?”

“Yes, I have news of her,” the Apothecary answered. “My friend, you must prepare yourself for a shock. I beg you to step into my coach where we will be guaranteed privacy.”

The Dutchman’s eyes bolted in his head and he appeared on the point of collapse.

“She’s dead, isn’t she? Nothing else could make you look so grim.”

“I will not speak until we are hidden from the world,” John stated resolutely, and taking van Guylder by the arm he dragged him, protesting but fortunately too weak to put up much resistance, into the conveyance.

Once inside the Dutchman lost all control. “What has happened?” he sobbed, his voice thick with emotion. “Is Juliana really dead? Has she paid for her sins with her life?” Despite the man’s obvious distress, John felt immensely irritated. “You sound like an Old Testament thunderer, Sir. Let he who be without sin cast the first stone, is more my philosophy. Yes, your tragic daughter is dead but through no fault of her own, of that I feel certain. It is others who have sinned against her by taking her young life.”

Van Guylder stopped weeping and gazed at the Apothecary transfixed. “Are you saying that she was murdered?”

“It grieves me to agree that I am.”

“By whom for God’s sake?”

“That,” John answered savagely, “is what I intend to find out.”

There was an awful pause during which the Dutchman turned ash white and retched violently. John, fearing for his upholstery, opened the window and shoved van Guylder’s head out but fortunately it was merely a spasm and the cobbles below remained unscathed. Jan drew his head back in and looked at the younger man.

“I know who killed her,” he said.

It was John’s turn to gape. “What?”

“She had a lover, here in Exeter. She tried to hide it from me but all the signs were there. I became certain that she was with child and I think she came to town to tell him of it. He killed her to silence her, that is what happened.”

“Who is he? Do you know him?”

Van Guylder sobbed and shook his head. “No, she never told me. But Richard, does, I am certain of that.”

The fact that something truly sinister might be lying behind the young man’s non-appearance at school struck the Apothecary forcibly. He hesitated, then decided that it was better to come out with everything than burden the Dutchman with future revelations.

“Your son is missing from his lessons,” he said quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“He hasn’t returned to school since his weekend with you.”

“But today is Wednesday. He caught the coach on Monday morning.”

“Yes, I know. I saw him.”

“You what?”

“Mr. van Guylder,” said John patiently, “it is obvious that I must tell you the whole story. Answer me truly, are you up to hearing it?” The Dutchman nodded but looked so pale around the gills that John decided on another course of action. Putting his head out, he called up to the coachman.

“Let us take our guest home. He will be better equipped in his own surroundings to deal with all of this. As fast as you can Tom without causing hazard.”

It was a journey of pure torture. Refusing to rest or sit quietly, van Guylder bombarded the Apothecary with questions which he felt duty bound to answer. In this way, the story of Juliana’s discovery on the deserted ship, though related tactfully, sounded so sinister as to be unreal. Indeed, even as he was telling the tale, John was remembering the ghostly white coach and its terrible occupants and how hard it was proving for him to dismiss the incident as having a perfectly rational explanation. Right at the back of his mind was growing the nasty feeling that there had been something supernatural about the whole affair and that somehow or other the ghost-ship and its solitary passenger might be connected with it.

But he had practical things to do. The Dutchman, who had wept silently since he had got into the coach, collapsed in a heap as John, omitting all the unpleasant details, described to him how Juliana had been found. Smelling salts were administered, clothing loosened, and a bandage soaked in common water soldier applied to the brow, thus preventing Jan van Guylder from losing consciousness all together. No one had ever been more relieved than when the masts of Topsham came into view and Tom turned the carriage in the direction of Shell House.

Yet here the situation grew slightly worse as Jan, still sobbing, said, “I pray Richard has returned. At least we can comfort one another in this black hour,” then rushed into his home calling his son’s name.

John did not know what made him so certain that the spotty boy would still be missing, but certain he was. Groaning audibly, he got out of the carriage and went into the house. Van Guylder was now acting like a man possessed, hurling himself from room to room, throwing open doors and demanding of the bewildered servants where Richard was hiding. So terrible was his manner and his look that a young female domestic started to scream, her high-pitched yells adding to the general pandemonium.

John, who had brought his medical bag with him even on honeymoon, dashed to the coach to get it and collared Tom to come in and help. Between them they managed to adminster a large dose of Greek Valerian in the form of an infusion, already prepared, down the throat of the loudly protesting Dutchman.

“What does that do, Sir?” asked the coachman.

“It is very good in hysteric cases and works wonders with the vapours. Give some to that girl while you’re at it. I want to question the servants.”

Yet, with one exception, this proved fruitless. Much as they wanted to help, for the news of Juliana’s death had shocked them into stunned silence, there was little they could add. The young mistress had left the house early on Monday morning and had not been seen since.

“Did she take clothes with her?”

“Yes, Sir,” said the dead girl’s personal maid, “and a strange selection at that. As well as her travelling dress, which she must have been wearing, she took evening clothes and her very best gown.”

“So she carried a large bag?”

“Yes, Sir.”

John thought aloud. “Then the coachman will probably remember her.”

“Of course he will, Sir. He took Miss Juliana into Exeter quite regular.”

“So if anybody met her at the other end he would know about it.”

“Most certainly, Sir.”

“I must have a word with him.”

This information was useful but about Richard there was absolutely none. He had left the house for school early on Monday, behaving quite normally, and not a word had been heard of him since. With a growing sense of unease, John went back into the drawing room to find that the Dutchman was reacting to the infusion and quietening down at last.

It was gone three o’clock and John drew van Guylder’s manservant to one side.

“I must return to Sidmouth. I have left my wife alone all day and it simply isn’t fair on her to be away a moment longer. As soon as I have quit the house I want you to send for your master’s physician. Tell him all that has taken place and ask him to call. I will leave a note for him about the physick already prescribed.”

“Will you return tomorrow, Sir?”

“I don’t know yet. It depends on what is happening at the other end. The constable took Miss Juliana’s body to Exeter mortuary this morning and soon somebody must identify it.”

“Oh pray God it doesn’t have to be the master.”

“It more than likely will be,” John answered. “If so, I will escort Mr. van Guylder, that is provided Master Richard doesn’t turn up.”

“What can have happened to him?” asked the servant, shaking his head.

“I don’t know,” answered John, but there was an awful leaden feeling in his gut as he said the words.

*
 
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*

“I have never,” John called out of the window to Tom, “been more glad to get back home in my life.”

The carriage was plodding up through the centre of Sidmouth village, heading towards The Anchor, which stood, as before, attractively lit by candles and looking thoroughly picturesque and inviting. Even more inviting was the sight of the beautiful Emilia, standing in the doorway and staring up the track to see if the oncoming vehicle belonged to her husband. As soon as she saw that it did, she flew towards it, smiling and calling his name.

The Apothecary’s heart lurched. I really love this woman, he thought, and realised simultaneously that he hadn’t considered Coralie for at least two days.

They went into the inn and sat by the fire. Even though the day had been hot, Matthew Salter had put a tinder to the wood so that its comforting glow might cheer the evening. Sitting on either side of it, each consuming a glass of claret, John in a quiet voice caught Emilia up with the day’s events. She looked thoroughly alarmed as the conversation came round to Richard.

“What can have happened to him?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Do you think this is connected with Juliana’s death, John?”

“I do somehow, yet I can’t quite see in what way.”

Emilia drew a breath. “He couldn’t have killed his own sister and gone into hiding, could he?”

The Apothecary shook his head. “Again, I don’t know. But don’t forget that I believe she was killed by more than one person.”

His bride’s angelic features contorted. “All this weeping and wailing coming from van Guylder, was it an act?”

“If it was, it was damnably convincing. I’ve
 
never seen a fellow in such a lather.”

“I have watched actors on the stage give performances that would wither your soul. They were very convincing too.”

“I know, I know,” said John. He drained his glass. “Let us change for dinner then let me take you to bed.”

“There might be time beforehand,” Emilia answered pertly.

“If there isn’t I’ll make time,” John answered, and, slipping his arm round her waist, led her up to their bedchamber.

*
 
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*

It was all he could do to stay awake. The combination of a full stomach, a bottle of wine, a frantic day and energetic lovemaking, to say nothing of the sea air, was too heady a mix for John to cope with. Hoping that he wasn’t getting old before his time, the Apothecary was only too glad to return to his room as soon as the meal was done, and stretch out beside his wife. He was asleep within two minutes and knew nothing further until at some time in the small hours there came a thunderous knocking on his door. It so startled him that John was out of bed and on his feet before he even realised it. Practically sleepwalking he slid back the bolt and opened the door a crack, looking out blearily. In the gap he could see framed the honest countenance of William r