Death and the Cornish Fiddler (21 page)

“Because they’re the truth. You’ve always considered the child in the way and now the way is clear.”

Somewhat shakily Tim rose to his full height, an impressive sight. “Will you come outside, Sir?”

“What for?” said Hughes insolently, ordering another pint. “Because I intend to give you the thrashing you richly deserve.”

“You? You wouldn’t last five minutes.”

But Jasper got no further. A scream rang out from the doorway. Every head turned to see Kathryn, even paler, crying and wringing her hands.”

“Oh stop it for pity’s sake. I have lost my child and now I am to lose the man I care for. Oh Jasper, don’t step outside I beg you.”

Tim shot her a look of pure surprise. “What makes you think that he’d best me? It’s I who challenged him. I intend to beat him within a mile of an oak.”

She rushed up to him and quite literally threw herself into his arms. “Oh darling, cease such talk. You two are all I have left in the world.”

John decided that the conversation was getting nowhere. “Why don’t the pair of you -“ He indicated Mrs Pill and Tim Painter. step back to The Angel. I shall remain and take up Mr Hughes’s kind offer of a drink.”

She and Painter looked at one another, she pleading, he uncertain, then Tim gave an elegant gesture. “Very well. I withdraw my challenge.”

Jasper shrugged his shoulders. “All the same to me whether you do or you don’t. But out of respect for my sister I’ll comply.” He turned to John. “What would you like, my friend?”

“A glass of claret if you please.”

“Landlord, a glass of the best.”

A silence settled over the inn once the lovers, if one could indeed call them that, had departed. John leant forward.

“Do you really think Tim murdered Isobel?”

Jasper, onto his third pint of ale despite the early hour, said, “I believe it is certainly possible.”

“But why? What motive could he have?”

“Money,” whispered Jasper sibilantly.

“What do you mean?”

“Simply this. As Kathryn’s only heir Isobel stood to inherit a small fortune when her mother died. Tim Painter would have got less. But with the girl out of the way he is going to be very rich.”

“But suppose he dies before Mrs Pill?”

Jasper leant close to John’s ear. “I feel positive that it might have been arranged for my sister to go to an early grave.”

So they were back to the oldest motive in the world. John considered it, wondering whether Isobel had been disposed of by Tim Painter, thrown into Loe Pool tied down with a weight. Further he considered Diana and her strange death. But what motive could there have been for that? Unless she and Tim had known one another before. Yet one could say that of every man who visited her that night. Painter, Lord Godolphin, the Gaffer, they had all three paid her a call. As for Nick, had he perhaps caught her in the arms of another and decided then and there to do away with her, creeping in first thing in the morning and putting a pillow over her face while she slept?

Yet somehow what Nicholas said rang true. Knowing that he must keep an open-mind, John none the less felt that the answer lay somewhere with the other three. Desperately requiring the assistance of Sir John Fielding’s acute brain, he determined to write and post a letter to him this very day.

He bowed to Jasper Hughes. “Sir, will you forgive me if I leave you? I have to see my companion and my daughter as well as needing to write some letters.”

“Certainly, old man. Sure you can’t manage another?””Thank you, but no. I’ll say goodbye.”

But Jasper had already turned away and was ordering more ale. It seemed to John as he left the building that the man must have the constitution of a bull. Which was more than could be said of his sister, poor thing, particularly when it came to her choice of men.

No sooner was he outside than he spotted Elizabeth and Rose perambulating slowly down the other side of the street. He called and waved his hat and they heard him and stopped walking. Rushing across, John joined them.

The Marchesa looked at him in a rather odd manner, John thought. But she followed this with one of her spectacular smiles and he felt in harmony with her again. That is until she spoke.

“John, my dear, Rose and I have been talking.”

“Yes?” he said, instantly suspicious.

“And we have decided, if you are agreeable, to go back to Devon and leave you to your investigation.” The Marchesa lowered her voice. “Truth to tell, the child is getting bored as there is precious little here for her to do. I think it would be better all round if we returned home. There she has her pony and other children I can call on, to say nothing of the delights of Exeter. So what do you think?”

John felt stunned and terribly hurt. Had he not after all done his best in every way to keep Elizabeth happy? But no, that was clearly not good enough. Then he felt saddened by the thought of Rose growing bored and depressed. He bent down to her.

“Are you tired of this place. Rose?”

“I am a little.”

“But you loved it when we first came here.”

“Then there was the Furry Dance to look forward to. And besides there was Wilkes.”

“Wilkes?” repeated her father, thinking of the politician.

“Yes, the monkey. He had such a thoughtful face.”

Despite what he was feeling, the Apothecary could not helpbut laugh. He straightened up.

“It seems that whatever I say the decision has been made,” he said.

Elizabeth looked a little annoyed. “I was thinking of your daughter’s wellbeing, Sir.”

“And only that?” asked John childishly.

“Certainly. What other reason could there be?”

“Perhaps that you too are feeling constrained by Helstone.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I am. But I would have stayed on were it not for Rose.”

“I see.” He bent down to his child once more. “Would you be happier in Mrs Elizabeth’s house, sweetheart? Tell me truly.”

“Yes, Papa, I would. There’s so much more to do there.”

“Then of course you must go.” He looked up at Elizabeth, presenting a cold face. “When will you be leaving?”

“First thing tomorrow morning if that is agreeable.”

He shrugged. “Do as you wish.” Standing straight he said, “And now if you will excuse me I have some urgent letters to write. Good day.” And he stalked away feeling more displeased than he had in an age.

Crossing the road he went into The Angel and was just making for the guests” parlour when he was waylaid by Tim Painter.

“Thanks for coming to my rescue, old chap.”

“Think nothing of it. I only did my duty. Where’s Mrs Pill by the way?”

“Lying down. This would be a great opportunity to have a drink. Will you join me?”

The Apothecary, who had had no breakfast, thought that if people continued to ply him with alcohol he would probably end up drunk or dead, or both. Yet, on the other hand it was an excellent chance to speak to Tim on his own.

“Very well. I have a half hour or so.”

He followed Painter into the tap room which fortunately was deserted other than for a couple of workingmen, clearly not working. Leading the way to a quiet corner, John sat down.

“Have you heard of Sir John Fielding?” he said abruptly. “The Blind Beak? Yes, I’ve been up before him,” Tim replied nonchalantly.

The Apothecary was so surprised that he practically dropped his glass.

“You’ve what?”

“I said I was up at Bow Street.”

“What for?”

“Some damnable Duchess - old as the hills but still rampant for a man - accused me of stealing her diamonds, would you believe.”

“And had you?”

“Of course not. I’d my eye on greater things than a few paltry stones.”

“What?”

“Her fortune, you foolish fellow. The old Duke had died and left her every penny he had. I was introduced to her at a ball and the rest you can guess. But some footman or other told her I was a thief and she lodged a charge at me at Bow Street.” John swigged his drink. “What happened?”

“I came up before the Beak — looked on by every member of the
beau monde
it seemed to me, for they were packing the public galleries - and he said there was insufficient evidence to condemn me. So I sallied forth from the dock and shortly after that I met Kathryn.”

He smiled, displaying a set of perfect white teeth.

John said, “I, too, know Sir John but in rather a different context.”

“Oh? What is that?”

“I occasionally work for him, solving murder cases. Years ago I was a suspect in a murder which I eventually helped him to unravel. Since then he has called on me for help from time to time.”

“How interesting,” said Tim unenthusiastically.

“And now I feel obliged to solve this one. So tell me, Sir, how was Diana Warwick when you finally left her?”

An unhealthy flush crept over the handsome face and Painter took a good draft of ale before he muttered, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that night you dined with her alone, then went to her bedchamber. The night she was done to death.”

Tim looked up sharply. “I thought her death was accidental.”

“Then you thought wrong, my friend. I have found incontrovertible evidence that she was killed.”

Tim suddenly flared up. “Well, don’t put the blame on me. Alright, I did go to bed with her, and enjoyed it too. I am a man, after all. But I left her alive and that’s the truth.”

“What time would that have been?”

“About twelve or so. Why?”

“Because Miss Warwick had several callers that night.”

Tim looked decidedly relieved. “Really? Who?”

“I don’t believe I should tell you that.”

“You must do as you think best. But I’ll warrant one of them was the blind fiddler.”

It was John’s turn to be surprised. “What makes you say that?”

Tim leant forward confidentially. “He’s not all he appears to be, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

Painter looked vague. “I’m not sure. But I’m certain I’ve met him before somewhere. And doing something entirely different too. Anyway, Diana Warwick knew him. I caught them when I was wandering around town, talking in a most conspiratorial manner.”

“Did you now! Did you manage to hear what their conversation was about?”

“No. They stopped as soon as they saw me - or should I say as soon as she saw me.”

John sat silently, then said, “It’s a pity he’s left Helstone.”

“He’s not gone far though,” said Tim helpfully.

Once again the Apothecary was amazed and his svelte brows rose high. “You know where the Gaffer is?”

“Yes, he’s in Redruth, playing at some gypsy gathering.”

“So that’s where I can find him,” answered John slowly.

An hour later, still having eaten no breakfast or midday repast, John rolled upstairs and fell on his bed and to sleep. But much had been achieved in that hour. Trusting his gut that Tim Painter, for all his bad behaviour and naughty ways, was not capable of murder, he had arranged to travel to Redruth in his company the next morning in order to question the Gaffer. They had decided to ride there, hiring horses from the Helstone Livery Stable. In fact just before he dozed off John felt a definite kick of excitement in the pit of his stomach. He was going adventuring and needn’t bother with pleasing any women, or rather one woman in particular.

Two hours later he woke with a start. That particular woman and he were presently on bad terms and he was not going to make it up to her by being late for dinner. Hurriedly John pulled on a pair of fitted silk stockings, then dressed in a rich emerald green suit trimmed with delicate embroidery of pink and silver flowers. He completed the ensemble by putting on a pair of soft leather shoes with flat heels, rounded tongues and silver buckles. Then he examined himself in a long mirror.

The new fashion for fitted breeches and short waistcoats left little to the imagination, but for all that suited the Apothecary superbly. His one fault was his hair which had grown so long that no wig would sit on it. He determined to go to the barber as soon as possible. Despite this he felt pleased with his appearance and set off confidently down the stairs.

But as he entered the dining parlour and saw Elizabeth, gleaming in crimson, her low square neckline giving a tantalising glimpse of breasts, her skirt decorated with black ruched and pleated silk, his heart gave a lurch.

Surely she had dressed to please him as much as he had dressed for her. Their eyes met and she gave him that slow tantalising smile that he loved so well. John bowed, then smiled crookedly. He approached her table.

“May I join you?”

“Is your humour restored?”

“Somewhat.”

“Why were you so angry earlier?”

He sat down, and leaning across the table covered her hands with one of his. “Because you were leaving me.”

“But my darling I thought I explained. Your daughter was becoming bored and restless. I couldn’t bear to see it.”