Death and the Cornish Fiddler (31 page)

“What a strange coincidence.” And John related the story of his acquaintanceship with the clerk.

“Jago is a Cornish name,” said Nick Kitto. “It means James.”

“Well, well. I never knew that.”

“You must ask him whether he comes from these parts.”

“I will indeed.”

“I thought we were going to make a plan, gentlemen,” said the Constable plaintively.

“I’ll give you a plan,” said Lord Godolphin, thumping the table with his fist. “I’ll call on Lyle tomorrow and ask what the devil he’s playing at.”

“Forgive me, Sir, but I think that would be dangerous,” said Trethowan seriously.

“Damn foolhardy,” put in Tim, who had taken a seat and been pouring himself glasses of claret with great enthusiasm. “Then what shall we do?”

“I think we should raid the house in force and look for evidence.”

“You won’t find any,” John replied. “They’re too clever for that.”

L”Then, Sir, what do you suggest?”

“We’ve got to catch them at it. In fact we missed a great opportunity tonight. I wonder what it was your man saw, by the way.”

“Perhaps he truly saw Parson Jago. Perhaps the ritual conjured him up.”

“You can’t believe such superstitious nonsense.”

Lord Godolphin spoke. “Cornwall is alive with legends and ghost stories. They are as old as time. You would do well to mark them, Rawlings.”

The laugh that John had been about to give froze on his lips when he saw the serious expressions of both his lordship and William Trethowan, and he thought again of Gypsy Orchard. “I’ll try my hardest, Sir,” he answered contritely.

“Well, I’d best be getting back. I’ll consult with you in the morning, gentlemen.”

“Excellent plan,” said Tim, pouring himself another glass. “If I say I am on special duties I might be able to delay my departure.”

“I leave that to you, Sir. Good night.”

And Trethowan made to go out but was interrupted by the thumb-sucking maid. “Oh, Sir,” she said to John, your little girl is awake - and she’s frightened.”

The Apothecary cursed himself. In the excitment of the dash to the Loe he had forgotten entirely that Rose had returned and was lying asleep upstairs. Before anyone could question him he had left the room and gone up the flight two at a time. He could hear her crying quietly before he even opened the door.

“Oh Papa,” she said as soon as she saw him, and she jumped out of bed and hurled herself into his arms.

“There, there, sweetheart. There’s no need to be afraid. I’m here.”

“But it was so horrid, Father.”

“What was, darling?”

“My door opened and a woman stood there. And… Oh, Papa.” Rose wept again.

“What, dearest? What did she do?”

“She beckoned for me to go with her but I was too afraid and I told her to go away.”

“What happened then?”

“She just laughed and said that she would be back. And…”

“Yes?”

“That she would take me to join Isobel.”

Chapter 28

T
hat night the Apothecary slept badly, dreaming vivid dreams of Emilia in which she begged him to take care of her child. Waking up in a sweat, seeing from his travelling carriage clock that it was two in the morning, he gazed to where Rose slept peacefully. He had moved himself into her room after she had told him the story of the old woman who had beckoned her, certain — though he had said nothing to the child herself — that the female had been a member of that ghastly coven of witches. Then, during the night, a terrible thought had occurred to him. If one supposed that they were into human sacrifice, could that have been the fate of Isobel Pill? Had she, after all, met her end on some unconsecrated altar and her defenceless body been disposed of afterwards? It was a hideous idea and yet the more John considered it the more sense it made.

He sat bolt upright in his makeshift bed, perspiration starting out all over his body, his hand reaching for a glass of water. A shaft of moonlight was shining in through the curtains, which had not been properly drawn, and getting out of bed the Apothecary silently crossed to the window and looked out. Helstone slept, apparently at rest, yet John was more than aware that beneath its blameless facade there currently dwelt a band of people with evil in their hearts. Looking back over his shoulder he saw that his child still slumbered, and at that moment determined that he would never leave her alone again until he had departed from that Cornish town for ever.

Which shouldn’t be long, he thought to himself. In fact he had only one task remaining before he and Rose could return to Devon. And this idea set him thinking about Elizabeth and the hopelessness of his situation with her. What had started out as a powerful attraction was clearly doomed to end in disaster. In fact at that moment of bleakness the Apothecary could imagine no future with her at all. He sighed quietly andturned to go back to bed. But just as he did so something moved in the street below and, turning back to the window, he gave it his full attention.

It was a strange figure dressed in a long concealing garment which hid the fact whether it be male or female. Yet, despite this, John had the distinct impression that he was regarding a woman. She stood motionless, gazing at The Angel, not moving at all as she stared. Seized with the idea that it was she who had earlier beckoned to Rose, the Apothecary threw a cloak over his nightshirt and sped downstairs. Grappling with the heavy bolts on the front door took him some time but eventually he got it open and gazed out on Coinage Hall Street. She or he had gone, and though he stepped outside and looked round the place there was no sign of the stranger. Shivering, despite the warmth of the night, John Rawlings returned to bed.

True to his word he stayed by Rose’s side next day except when she went to the water closet. But even then he remained outside the door until he heard the crank of the plunger, when he pushed the partition open and his child was restored to him. Privately he thought it quite marvellous that a remote inn like The Angel should have had such a thing installed, it not being his experience in other places in which he had stayed.

Having finished an early breakfast John decided to take his daughter for a walk before the one item of business left to him. In the street, she turned to look at him as they left The Angel and headed up the town.

“Papa, have you much left to do here?”

“Only one thing,” he answered, taking her hand and holding it fast.

“Will it take long?”

“No, I shall do it this morning and then we will leave tomorrow.”

“Shall we catch the stagecoach?”

“Yes, my darling. We will cram in with the rest of the passengers.”

“I look forward to that.”

“We can catch it to Truro and from there make our way to Devon.”

“We are going to say goodbye to Mrs Elizabeth, aren’t we?”

“Of course we are, sweetheart. But after that we must return to London and resume our old life.”

“I want to see Grandpapa again.”

“Do you love him?”

“Very much indeed,” and Rose tightened her grip on the Apothecary’s hand and gave him a look of such sincerity that he felt the tears sting his eyes.

They walked in silence for a while and then John’s daughter said, “Oh look, Papa. Here come Mr Sayce and Mrs Anstey.”

And there to the Apothecary’s utter amazement came two members of the coven, strolling along as if they hadn’t a care in the world. But then, he realised, nobody was aware of their secret other life, nobody except Tim Painter and himself. He decided to behave as if he knew nothing.

“Mrs Anstey, Mr Sayce,” he said, and swept off his hat. Beside him he felt Rose give a small curtsey as she had been taught.

Today the older man looked decidedly deflated, John thought, though the woman stared at the Apothecary as lecherously as ever.

“Mr Rawlings, we were just talking about you.” And Anne ran her oddly small tongue over her lips in a manner that John could only think of as obscene.

“Really? What were you saying?”

“That we hadn’t seen you since that night in Redruth when we played cards.”

“I have been quite busy,” he answered, dropping his eyes.

He found it hard to return Anne Anstey’s gaze which, though strangely cold, had still an unpleasant fire in its depth. He recalled her lying stark naked on the altar, coupling with a Colquite and had to control himself not to shudder visibly. But despite his efforts he must have made some movement because he felt Rose glance up at him questioningly.

“Hello, my dear. How pretty you look today.” Mrs Anstey was speaking to his daughter.

“Thank you.” And the child curtseyed again.

It was at that moment that the Apothecary caught Sayce’s eye and, briefly, the expression within. To say that the man looked strained would have been an understatement. There was genuine fear in his glance. John could not help but notice that the older man’s lips were forming soundless words.

Anne bent down and picked up one of Rose’s rich red curls. “Beautiful,” she crooned. “You have such beautiful hair, sweetheart.”

The child pulled back against John’s legs. “Thank you,” she whispered again, but the Apothecary could tell that she was genuinely frightened.

He bowed abruptly. “I’m sorry. I have an urgent appointment. Come Rose.” And replacing his hat, he hurried up the road.

“I didn’t like it when the woman touched my hair,” the child said quietly.

“It wasn’t she who came to your room, was it?”

“No, Papa, it was somebody much thinner and older.”

“I wonder,” he said to himself, as into his brain came a picture of the unappealing features of Mrs Legassick.

Returning to The Angel, he discovered the coaches in which Mrs Pill had arrived drawn up outside. Now he knew that he had little time. His problem was going to be what to do with Rose, for what he had to say was not suitable for her ears. Eventually he found the thumb-sucking fat maid and asked her if Rose could stay with her for half an hour. On the production of a coin the girl rapidly agreed.

“You are not to leave her alone, you understand?”

“Oh, I won’t, Sir. I promise.”

“Not even for a second.”

“No, Sir.”

He went downstairs and eventually found Tim Painter taking his ease in the parlour.

“Aren’t you leaving?” John asked in some surprise.

“No,” Tim answered lazily. “Thought I’d stay and give what assistance I could to hunting down these wretched witchcraft people. I mean to say, one can’t have this sort of thing going on in decent society.”

If he had not been about such serious business, John would have laughed uproariously. How a reprobate such as Tim could have the bare-faced gall to sit and pontificate about moral standards was almost beyond him. As it was he grinned broadly.

“Glad you’ll be with us,” he said.

“Think nothing of it, dear boy.” And Tim flapped a languid hand.

“Have you told Mrs Pill?” asked John.

“Yes. I said I would follow on later.”

“And how did she take that?”

“Not well, not well. However the wretched Jasper came to the rescue and said it would be a much easier journey without me. For once I was totally in agreement with him.”

The Apothecary shook his head. “Why do you really want to stay?”

Tim shifted in his seat. “I don’t know exactly. I think it was the thought that I might, at last, be of some help. Which reminds me, why did you really call us all together last night?” John’s face remained impassive. “Because I would have present the four men who visited Diana Warwick on that fatal night. I wanted to run through the sequences of events with you all for the last time. But it’s too late for that now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll explain later.” The Apothecary stood up. “Do you know where I will find Mrs Pill and Jasper?”

“They’re in the hall somewhere, I think. But you’d better hurry. They’ll be leaving shortly.”

“Thank you.”

They were indeed getting ready for departure, though Mrs Pill, looking terribly white and thin, had taken a seat in a snug, leaving Jasper to organise the servants getting the trunks onto the two carriages. Catching her alone, John sat down beside her.

“So you’re departing from us, Madam.”

“Yes,” she said, and her voice sounded broken and fragile. “I realise there is no hope for my poor Isobel. So I am taking my leave of this accursed place.”

John nodded. “I quite understand how you feel. Helstone can hold nothing but unhappy memories for you.”

She lowered her head, staring into her lap. “I shall think of it as the town in which my heart was broken.”

“And not just because of Isobel,” he said quietly.

She looked up and just for a second he peered into those small, sad eyes, today partly hidden by a pair of spectacles. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“I think perhaps you know.”

“I don’t understand what you are talking about.”