Death and the Cornish Fiddler (32 page)

“I speak of the death of Diana Warwick,” he said, still in that calm, quiet voice.

“What about it?”

Leaning over, John took one of her thin-fingered hands in his. “Why don’t you tell me what happened? It would be much easier if you did.”

She stared at him and he saw her try to control herself, and fail.

“You know, don’t you,” she said at last. “How long have you known?”

“Not long,” he answered truthfully. “It only came to me recently in fact.”

She started to tremble, resembling nothing so much as some poor small creature out in the cold. John started to pat her hand.

“I think I had the first intimation when Tim Painter said that Diana suddenly looked at the door then afterwards hurried him away as soon as possible. Yet I knew she was alive when Lord Godolphin called on her, but was dead by the time the Gaffer went to visit. That suggested to me that somebody opened the door while she was
in flagrente
with Tim and she saw that person look into the room with an expression of pure horror. Horror, perhaps, mixed with something else.”

“Oh yes, I looked on her with hatred,” Kathryn said quietly. “After all, Tim was the only man I have ever really loved.”

And she was taking him away from you.”

“How could she have been so cruel? Yet her beauty was such that men followed her wherever she went. But when all was said and done she was just a common whore.”

“So you went in later - after his lordship had left - and put a pillow over her face.”

“Yes.” The shrivelled, white visage turned to the Apothecary and he saw for the first time that she was slightly unbalanced. And shall I tell you something, Mr Rawlings? I enjoyed smothering the life out of her. Enjoyed seeing the end of her dangerous, fatal beauty.” Slowly she got to her feet, removed her hand from his grasp and held it out to him. “Goodbye to you, Sir, it has been most pleasant knowing you. Perhaps we will meet again somewhere.” Then she walked past him and made her way out of the front door.

Just for a moment John sat motionless, then he sprang to his feet and ran after her. But he was too late. Mrs Pill had taken possession of the front carriage waiting outside the inn. Climbing up onto the vacant coachman’s box she had whipped up the horses and gone clattering down the street towards the open countryside at the bottom. John stood staring after her, in company with Jasper, her brother. The bird had clearly flown.

Chapter 29

F
or a second John and Jasper stood staring as the coach disappeared down Coinage Hall Street. Then together, just as if they had rehearsed the move, they leapt into the second conveyance, shouting to the driver, who was already in place, to pursue at all speed. He shot forward so quickly that the pair was obliged to cling onto the upholstery in order not to end up on the floor. Ahead of them they saw Kathryn’s coach career wildly into the fields that lay beyond the town, heading in the direction of Loe Pool. Even as he saw it, the Apothecary had a terrible premonition of the thought that might be in her mind.

They followed into the meadowlands which grew progressively more boggy as the coach moved forward. Eventually the wheels ground to a halt, arrested in the marshy terrain. Ahead of them, a much lighter weight than that of the two men, Mrs Pill’s conveyance lurched its dangerous path onward. John, descending as best he could, started to run behind it but realised the futility. Despite the fact that it was of necessity travelling slowly, he still found it hard to keep up. Behind him he heard Jasper clambering down.

“What shall we do, Rawlings?”

“We must go in pursuit. She won’t be able to drive much further.”

“Come on then.”

They hurried forward but their way and also their line of sight was barred by trees. Occasionally, though, the woodland cleared and they could see Mrs Pill’s abandoned coach standing somewhat forlornly on the edge of the lake.

Jasper turned to John. “Oh my God! You don’t think she…”

But the Apothecary didn’t answer, resolutely pushing his way forwards. He came out of the trees and rushed to the lakeside. And there, floating on the surface, was a sad dark shape. Without hesitation John kicked off his shoes, tore off his jacket and dived in, to be followed a minute later by Jasper,who reached Kathryn first and hauled her to the shore.

Dripping wet, John did everything in his power to restore life; turning her on her face and pumping her back, waiting for her to cough up water. But it was to no avail.

Looking down into her plain, pale face, the Apothecary thought that she had endured a wasted life culminating in two terrible acts of violence, one brought about by a kind of desperate jealousy, the other to end the suffering which she must have been subjected to since losing both Isobel and Tim Painter. For surely that is how she must have seen his betrayal of her in the bedroom that night, as a total loss of loyalty. Yet surely, John considered, still gazing at her, she must have known what she was taking on in Tim. That was most certainly not the first time he had been unfaithful to her but - and this idea struck him with some force — it was destined to be the last. Then he remembered Anne Anstey in Redruth and he stopped his mind going down that path of deceit and concentrated on the present.

Jasper had lifted the inert body up in his arms and was openly weeping.

“Why did she do it, Rawlings? She was my sister. We spent all our time together until she married Hubert Pill. Oh God, my poor little Kathryn.”

“She did it because she had lost Isobel, Jasper. The child meant everything to her,” John lied.

“I know that. But I thought she was starting to recover. Felt sure that with time and patience I could coax her back into a normal life.”

John looked at him, thought of all that had happened and knew that he was utterly right to remain silent about the actual reason for Kathryn’s death. To Jasper he said, “Come on, my friend. We must carry her body back to Helstone. I’ll drive her coach. The coachman can bring back the other.”

So they set off in dismal procession, manoeuvring the coaches with care through the unfriendly undergrowth until at last, and after a great deal of effort, they found their way to

Coinage Hall Street. Here they parted company; John to find Tim Painter, Jasper to go to the undertakers to arrange for Kathryn’s body to be coffined up before he took it home to Wiltshire.

It was in a very sombre mood that the Apothecary, having drawn a blank in the taproom of The Angel, made his way to The Blue Anchor, feeling certain that he would find the extraordinary character that made up Painter in the hostelry chattering to his crowd of cohorts. As he walked down the street he had been mulling over whether to tell Tim all the facts and was still not certain as he went through the front door and saw him, seated at a table, regaling some gullible individual with how he had been promoted to Constable’s assistant. John sighed heavily and took a seat beside him.

“How do, John my friend? How goes it with you since this morning?”

“Not well, I’m afraid.”

“Really? What’s up?”

“I would rather discuss that in private.”

“Oh. Oh, I see.” Tim leant across the table to his crony. “Would you mind, old boy? Got some confidential business to talk about.”

The cohort, having given John rather a dark look, shambled off to a corner where he disconsolately supped his ale.

“I suppose you want to discuss the witches,” said Tim in a loud whisper.

“No, it’s something else I’m afraid. Tim, you must prepare yourself for a shock. I am sorry to have to tell you that Kathryn is dead.”

To say that the ne’er-do-well gaped at him would have been a gross understatement. His jaw quite literally dropped and for once in his life he looked utterly devastated.

“Dead? But that’s not possible. I only saw her an hour ago. She was perfectly well then.”

“Yes, I saw her too remember. But after our conversation she went to Loe Pool and threw herself in.”

Tim let out a terrible cry, then turned his head away and John could see that he was weeping. He leant forward. “I’m sorry, believe me. It must be a terrible blow.”

“It is. Poor Kathryn. What had she done to merit such an end?” She met you, thought John, but would rather have died than say it aloud. Instead he said, “I think it was principally the death of Isobel that unhinged her.”

“Yes.” Tim dried his eyes. “You’re right. But where did the child go? That is something we have never discovered.”

John shook his head slowly. “I believe she drowned in Loe Pool.”

“And her mother followed her,” Tim said quietly. He sat up straight. “Let us have another drink and toast her memory.”

“Yes,” answered John, but inside his head he was thinking how extraordinary Tim Painter was. But then, he considered, the entire nation, indeed the world, was made up of such individual people that one should never be surprised by the behaviour of anyone.

They raised their glasses. “To Kathryn,” said Tim, “may God rest her soul.”

“Amen to that,” answered John. He drained his glass and stood up. “Now, are you going to be alright?”

“Yes. I intend to drown my sorrows. You won’t join me?”

“No, I must get back to my daughter. We plan to leave -“ John pulled his watch out and looked at it “- this afternoon. Now I see it will have to be tomorrow. I’ll bid you farewell in case our paths do not cross again.”

Unbelievably Tim’s eyes filled with tears once more. “Oh no, we cannot part like that. I shall come and wave farewell to the stagecoach. After all, I consider you a close friend.”

He suddenly seemed unbelievably sad and lonely, and John thought that he probably had few male friends having spent most of his adult life concentrating on women.

“That will be most kind of you. Thank you.”

“It will be my pleasure. We must meet when I am next in town.”

John bowed, Tim made to stand up but couldn’t quite achieve it. None the less he gave a small salute before he addressed himself once more to his wine, another bottle of which had been ordered on the Apothecary’s arrival.

Back in the street, John ran the short distance to The Angel, suddenly full of fear for his child. But she was playing happily enough with the landlord’s wife, a dark comely creature of some forty years. They both looked up as he approached.

“Oh, there you are, Sir. I was feeling somewhat worried.”

“Is Rose all right?”

“She’s perfectly well, Sir. I had to remove her from the custody of the girl because she had so much to do the poor thing was at her wit’s end. So I took Rose from her. I hope you don’t mind, Sir.”

“Mind? I am more than grateful to you, Madam.” He produced a guinea from his pocket. “I wonder if I could ask you a favour. Would it be possible for you to care for Rose tonight? I have to go out later and I am very nervous of leaving her on her own. If you could, perhaps, sleep in her room.” The landlord’s wife looked askance. “Why, Sir? Surely you’re not afraid once the child has bedded down.”

“But that’s when I do worry. Suppose some stranger were to come in off the streets.”

“Bless you, Sir. They’re all locals.”

John thought wildly and came up with the answer. “It’s ever since the disappearance of Isobel Pill. She vanished as you know. I couldn’t bear it if anything like that were to happen to

Rose.”

The woman looked thoughtful. “Aye, Sir, “ee do have a point. I’ll sleep with the child tonight.”

“Just this once. We’re leaving tomorrow. Can you tell me at what time the stagecoach departs?”

“Are you going to Truro or Falmouth, Sir?” t*-p> lruro.

“Then your luck holds, Sir. The Truro stage leaves in the morning at nine o’clock.”

“And we’ll be on it,” said John, and felt a sudden uplifting of his heart.

He never afterwards could tell what drew him back to Loe Pool. But immediately after dining with his daughter and handing her into the care of Mrs King, who fussed over the child, presumably thinking that another guinea might be on the way, he set off on foot to see that stretch of mysterious water for the last time. The sun was just going down and the lights were transforming the Loe into a glittering mirror. All around him the trees were etched darkly against the fading light, sinister sentinels of the night that was to come. From where he stood John could glimpse Penrose House and immediately opposite it, almost hidden by the undergrowth, the home of Lord Lyle himself. Penrose was lit by a shaft of dying light but the other house lay in gloom. Suddenly, for no reason, John needed to go there to see the owner and tell him that the game was up. That he should get out before the wrath of the law descended on him. Almost without knowing it, his feet started to walk to where the steep path ascended upwards.

It was almost dark by the time he reached it and in the undergrowth on either side of the track he could hear the little rustlings of wild creatures. For no reason the sounds made him nervous and he would have turned back had he not been over half way up. As he drew nearer the Apothecary could see that the place was in total blackness, not a candle lit anywhere. This made him even more frightened and he stood still for a second. Then he pulled himself together, thinking he had come this far and really must continue on his way. Gritting his teeth, John proceeded towards the house.