Death and the Cornish Fiddler (14 page)

“Does one or other of them have disapproving parents?”

“Nicholas I would imagine. I can’t quite imagine Diana having parents.”

Elizabeth pealed with laughter and John silently drew breath. At that moment he felt that he stood outside himself and looked on the scene, knowing that all his life, come what may between him and the dark-haired scar-faced woman with whom he would like to throw in his lot, this would be something he would remember always. The sable loveliness of her, throwing her head back in the candlelight, appreciating his humour, at ease with him in every way.

It was at this juncture that Sayce belched loudly and said, “By Gad, that was damnable good food.” He stood up, his little eyes taking in the entire room, who stared at him, some friendly, others wishing the man would be silent and sit down again. “Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to give you a toast. I raise my glass to those master chefs who have laboured behind the scenes to prepare tonight’s feast. I ask you all to rise and drink to them.”

John, finding the fellow a total bore, none the less got to his feet, as did Elizabeth.

“The cooks, God bless “em,” said Sayce.

Everyone drank, including Tim Painter and Diana Warwick, then sat down again, rather hurriedly John thought. But Sayce wasn’t done with them yet. He remained standing and launched into an anecdote.

“Forgive me one and all if I may crave your attention a moment more. I want to tell you a yarn of my boyhood…”

His voice rambled on, punctuated with a great many wheezing laughs and thigh slaps, and all the time his tiny mean eyes were seeking out the company, looking for approbation, demanding attention, playing to his audience of would-be admirers.

Tim had long since stopped paying the man any heed and was concentrating all his charm on Diana. Leaning across the table, he covered one of her hands with his, and muttered something inaudible.

John said with asperity, “I would have thought he might have paid some small consideration to Mrs Pill.”

“Not he,” Elizabeth answered. “Mr Painter is a man with an eye to the main chance in life. As long as his next drink is guaranteed, as long as his next mistress - be she only for a night or two - is provided, then he is happy. He is an opportunist and the pangs of conscience that might allay the rest of us for things done or not done, simply don’t apply to him.”

“Then he is brutal,” John answered softly.

“I don’t think he would agree. In his mind he cares about people, worries about them. But in reality he doesn’t give a straw.” Mutually they looked over at the subject of their conversation and saw that he now held both Diana’s hands and was gazing at her with a steadfast expression on his face.

Mr Sayce stopped his discourse at this juncture and sat down amidst half-hearted applause. Everyone started to concentrate on their food once more with the notable exception of Anne Anstey, who suddenly began to choke, gazing piteously over a white napkin which she held tightly to her mouth.

“Oh dear,” John murmured to Elizabeth. “I have a feeling I am about to be summoned.”

Digging in to her game pie, the Marchesa merely rolled her eyes at him in silent agreement.

Mrs Anstey continued to make alarming noises to the point that John stood up and crossed over to her table.

“Can I assist you, Madam? Perhaps a glass of water might help.”

For answer Mrs Anstey heaved violently, though thankfully not productively. John side stepped.

“I must get out,” she gasped, and practically threw herself into his arms. Throwing a desperate glance at Elizabeth, who most unsympathetically just grinned, the Apothecary began to lead her from the room.

Sayce stood up. “Can I do anything?” he asked, glancing round the diners to make sure he had been noticed.

“Yes, accompany us if you would,” John answered desperately, struggling under Anne’s not inconsiderable weight.

“Certainly, old boy. Keep a cool head in a crisis, Sayce, my old mama always used to say.”

Together, staggering slightly, the two men took Mrs Anstey outside the dining parlour and into the hallway, where she stood gasping and clutching her abdomen. John took the opportunity to race upstairs for his bag of medicines. On his return, however, he found both Sayce and the woman concerned had vanished. Feeling annoyed, he marched back into the dining parlour to discover Anne Anstey fully recovered, drinking a glass of wine and toasting Eustace Sayce, who, in return, was glowing in her fulsome compliments, together with the rest of his party.

Angrily, John sat down. “Well, I must say… “

Elizabeth whispered, “Oh come now. Surely you’re glad to be rid of her? I’ll swear she has designs on you.”

“Yes, you’re right.” He looked round and saw to his astonishment that Tim and Diana were also absent.

“And where did they go?”

“Only one place I can think of,” Elizabeth answered, and slowly winked her eye.

Chapter 13

I
n the eerie light of dawning Loe Pool had taken on a dark and sinister air, very different from the warm and pleasant aspect of the previous afternoon. Seeing it, the rising sun striking the sheet of water and burnishing it to gold, John felt that it had a mysterious quality, a quality of things unseen and unspoken, and for a moment felt his imagination run wild, wondering whether a merry-maid splashed in its depths.

He had gathered together three strong swimmers; himself, Jed and Rufus, the coachman and the guard, who had been having an excellent time of it in Helstone, spending every day at leisure and every night in the taproom. The only restriction to their total freedom had been the Apothecary’s insistence that they remain at The Angel in the evenings, keeping an ear out for Rose and occasionally checking her welfare. Other than for that small duty they had had a complete rest from work. But now they had been called in to help look for the body of Isobel Pill.

John had hoped to bring Tim Painter in to assist but there had been no sign of him last night after his sudden disappearance with Diana. And to call him this morning would have been bad manners indeed. So the Apothecary and his small contingent had presented themselves to the Constable before first light and declared themselves willing to undertake the grisly task that lay ahead.

William Trethowan, in company with three other powerful men, had met them at the bottom of Coinage Hall Street, and then the little troop had walked the rest of the way to the Loe and arrived just as the sun was glinting over the horizon.

“If she’s there she’ll be in the shallows. But if she
was
murdered, then her killer might have had had a boat and weighted her down.”

John shook his head. “If she was killed, then whoever did it acted on the spur of the moment, I feel certain of it.””Then she should be somewhere where we can get at her. So let’s to it.”

He positioned his men at quarter of a mile intervals and told them to dive in and look around, then, having covered the delegated area, to keep moving on. But even as he set them the task the Constable had a hopeless air about him, as if he knew that however hard they searched they would come up with nothing.

John, diving into the green water, found it depressing and rather horrible and not a task that he would wish on anyone. And when he surfaced, having ploughed his way through weeds, he could see in the distance that Rufus and Jed were equally miserable at the task which it had been their duty to perform. Eventually, though, after four hours searching, the Constable called the wretched business off.

“It’s useless, lads. There’s nothing down there but dead dogs. If the maiden’s in the Loe then she’s sunk to where we can’t get her.”

“What’ll us do, Willum?”

“Leave it be. There’s naught else. I’ll have to see her mother and tell her straightly what’s transpired.”

“I’ll come with you if you like,” the Apothecary offered.

“No, Sir, it’s a grim task but I’ll do it on my own,” the Constable replied with dignity, earning himself even more credit in John’s eyes.

It was by now seven o’clock and the weary men, having towelled and dressed themselves, started the walk back into town. As they did so William beckoned John to one side.

“Excuse me asking, Sir, but have you any experience of this kind of thing? I mean through your apothecarying or such-like?”

John decided to admit everything. “Yes, as a matter of fact I work from time to time with Sir John Fielding, the Principal Magistrate of London. Years ago I was briefly suspected of committing a murder but fortunately when he questioned me, Mr Fielding, as he then was, realised I was telling the truth. I assisted him to find that murderer and I have been doing so ever since, off and on.”

“London is a long, long way from here, Sir, of course. But I reckon you must be thought something of to work with Sir John.”

“Have you heard of him?”

“No, Sir, to be honest I haven’t.”

“He’s blind you know. He’s known to the mob as the Blind Beak.”

“You don’t say.”

“And talking of that, what do you know about the blind fiddler?”

The Constable chuckled. “The Gaffer? Not very much really. He first appeared on Flora Day about five years ago. He organises the music, as you’ve heard for yourself. None of them, not he nor his band, want paying for the privilege. Instead they send a boy round - this year it was a monkey — with a hat. Then they move on. I reckon they’ll be going in a day or two.”

“And what about the rest of the people?” John asked. “Will they be off soon?”

“Oh yes. In the next few days the town will return to normal.”

And Isobel’s murderer - if he exists - will walk away with the others. That is if she
is
dead.”

Trethowan stopped in his tracks, forcing the Apothecary to do likewise. “You may believe me a superstitious fool, Mr Rawlings. And I suppose that in many ways I am. But I have great faith in Gypsy Orchard. She’s been around Helstone ever since she was a thin little girl fending for herself. And I’ve asked her things in the past and what she has told me has always come about. So if she says to me that Isobel is drowned, then drowned the child is.”

It was a great testament of belief and in the face of such blazing sincerity John would have felt cheapened and somehow shabby if he had argued. Instead he said, “Then you face a difficult situation, Constable.”

“I’ve a plan for that, Sir.”

“And what is it?”

“To ask everyone staying at The Angel Inn to remain a few more days while I continue to search.”

And if they refuse?”

“Then I shall regard them as mighty suspicious and question them hard.”

And if that doesn’t work?”

“Then I shall reluctantly be forced to let them go.”

John was silent, resuming his walk back to Helstone, thinking that both he and the Constable were going to have a great deal to do before people left the town for good. He was still contemplating where it would be best to start when he reached the front door steps of the hostelry and turned in, meeting Muriel Legassick and Tabitha Bligh on their way out. “Good morning, ladies,” he said pleasantly.

They both bobbed curtsies. “Good morning, Mr Rawlings, and a very fine one too.”

“When are you thinking of leaving, may I ask?” he enquired politely, getting straight down to business.

Mrs Legassick smiled and her eyes behind her spectacles loomed suddenly large. “Well, it rather depends on the Colquites. They are all for us remaining at The Angel for a few days more but then they live close by and do not have the tedious journey back to Wiltshire to contend with. But we shall make up our minds today, you may depend on it.” Tabitha, who had been running her eyes over the Apothecary, said, And what about you, Mr Rawlings? What are your plans?”

“I shall probably remain for another few days,” he said airily. “It rather depends on the Marchesa’s wishes.”

“Oh yes, of course, your travelling companion.” Tabitha robustly stressed the last two words. “How delightful it must be for you, to be sure, to have such a charming lady to escort.”

“Oh yes it is. Very. Good day, ladies.” And bowing once more, the Apothecary made his way inside.

It was shortly after seven in the morning and the general flow of people were coming down to breakfast. John, realising that he looked a scallywag but not really caring, decided to join them, hoping that Elizabeth and Rose would soon put in an appearance. The early morning exercise had given him a ravenous appetite and he ordered ham, eggs, herrings and various other delicacies that the bill of fare was offering. He was just through his third slice of gammon when Rose entered the room alone. He stood up and kissed her.

“Good day to you, my darling. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes thank you, Papa.”

“And where is Mrs Elizabeth?”

“I knocked on her door, Papa, but she didn’t answer.”

John looked up from his food.

“Strange. I hope she’s alright.”

“Perhaps she didn’t hear me.”

“None the less I think I’ll go and check. Now you stay here like a good girl and eat your breakfast. I shall only be a few minutes. Wait for me, Rose.”