Death at the Wedding Feast (19 page)

‘I don't know that my nerves could stand it,' he answered.

‘Nonsense. If those two old biddies are hiding out it is the logical place for them to go.'

‘Why?'

‘Because they must have had horses tethered somewhere, and the sensible thing would be to make for the Grange. No mortal person ventures near the place after dark I can assure you.'

‘I can understand that perfectly.'

‘Oh John, don't be lily-livered. Remember the time we went there together.'

And suddenly he did. Remembered with a certain embarrassment how he had nearly made love to her and would have done so had he not, in a great pang of guilty conscience, recalled his marriage vows and thought of Emilia, his wife.

He answered, rather shortly, ‘Yes, I recall it.'

She must have guessed his feelings because she slowed down and leant across to take his horse's bridle.

‘John, we needn't go there if you do not wish it. But I do feel it is worth taking a look, just in case.'

‘But it would mean climbing all over that monstrous house and after my experiences earlier this evening I don't feel that I am up to it.'

‘Then you shall wait outside while I go in,' she said soothingly, which was just the sort of thing to say to the Apothecary, who at once felt that he was being cowardly.

‘No, I wouldn't hear of it, Elizabeth. I shall accompany you.'

But as they neared the gaunt building, its ruined towers and turrets reaching into the dark sky like clutching fingers, John's heart plummeted once more.

‘Must we go?'

‘Yes, we must.'

Motioning him to be silent Elizabeth dismounted in a spinney of trees and tethered the two horses to the branches. Reluctantly John also swung down and they proceeded on foot towards the ghastly edifice.

‘I thought it better to arrive without prior warning,' she whispered.

John could not help but grin at her. ‘You're certain they are in there,' he murmured back.

‘I'm not certain of anything, but it is worth a try.'

But strangely, as they approached the building, they could see that certain alterations had been made and there were definite signs of restoration work. Windows that had hung open to the skies had now been boarded up and made secure. Scaffolding had been erected against one of the walls. Various workmen's tools were gathered neatly together in a newly built hut.

Elizabeth turned to John, her eyes wide. ‘I'd heard a rumour that someone was interested in buying the place. It would appear to be true.'

‘But who would want it?'

‘Obviously somebody wealthy with a large family. I've no idea of his identity though. And I had put the whole thing down to local tittle-tattle.'

‘Shall we try to get in nonetheless?'

Elizabeth looked at him, her eyes sparkling. ‘Let us do that. It will obviously be the last time.'

Their usual mode of entry through one of the sagging windows was now barred to them, but walking cautiously round they discovered a kitchen door that had worked loose and was swinging on its hinges. Moving lithely – rather like a panther, John thought – Elizabeth made her way in.

There is nothing more soul destroying than a big, empty kitchen. The whole place smelt of rot and decay, and John gazed around at filthy sinks, greasy spits and mucky ovens. The Marchesa marched onward on silent feet and the Apothecary followed as quietly as he could. They reached the bottom of that formidable staircase and Elizabeth had started to climb before he could stop her. It was then that John thought he glimpsed the real reason why she had come to Wildtor Grange. She wanted to revisit the apartments she had once used as a hideout when she had been younger and not so honest a citizen as she was these days.

She had increased her stride so that John was forced into a half run to keep up with her. He could not for the life of him remember in which direction her apartments lay and he stood in the dark, trying to get his bearings. And then Elizabeth reappeared carrying a candle. She had stripped off all her clothes and he was terribly aware of how gorgeous she looked. In fact he could not keep his eyes off her. She smiled enigmatically.

‘Do I still attract you?' she asked.

‘More than I can say.'

‘Then show me.'

He needed no further invitation. He allowed her to lead him to those old rooms which still bore something of the perfume she had once worn, where he flung her down on to the bed. And then he made love to her, so many times and so beautifully, as if in so doing he could put the memories of that terrible wedding out of his head for ever.

Nineteen

John was woken by the sunlight playing on his face and stretched out an arm to reach for Elizabeth. But she was not there. He was alone in her great bed in that terrifying house, with its monstrous staircase and its long dreary suites of rooms leading one upon the other. How anyone, however wealthy and with however many children, could think of buying and restoring such a place was quite beyond him.

He sat up and looked around. Once, long ago, when the Marchesa had been a vigilante avenging the death of her only son, she had used it as a hideout and had slept alone in the great house, first having furnished an apartment to her own luxurious requirements. Now, though the curtains and cushions were faded and dusty and generally tired, the rooms still had the air about them of somewhere that had once been rather grand. He supposed that with enough money spent upon it and enough cheerful fires lit and constantly thronged with hosts of people, Wildtor Grange might again achieve something of its original potential after all.

He swung out of bed and had started to put his clothes on when the door opened and there stood Elizabeth, fully dressed and already wearing her tricorne hat. She smiled at him becomingly.

‘Guess what I've just found.'

John shook his head. ‘I don't know. What?'

‘These.'

And she pulled from behind her back two brown shifts, of the type worn by working women, and two hideous poke bonnets.

‘So they
were
here,' exclaimed John.

‘They most certainly were. My reading of the situation is that they came here, changed, then went on to Exeter where they disappeared into the crowd.'

‘Let me have a look at those dresses,' said John, buttoning up his shirt.

Elizabeth passed them to him.

‘These have been specially made. Look at the size of them. They're too long for a woman for a start, though admittedly one is shorter than the other. But then so were the assassins.'

The Marchesa sat down on the bed. ‘What else did you notice about the couple?'

‘I glimpsed the face of one of them. Briefly.'

‘What about their hands?'

‘Their hands? Now those I did see. One had long fingers and I do believe brown spots. So he must have been quite middle-aged. The other, younger. Rather reddish hands, square.'

‘And did you not see that one of them wore a bracelet of some kind?'

‘No, I didn't. Which one?'

‘The taller. He had something round his wrist which I only just glimpsed but thinking that he was a woman I did not pay much attention. But these dresses prove their gender. Conclusively.'

And she held one garment against her. The skirt folded at the hem leaving a good part of the dress trailing on the floor.

John took hold of the bonnets and held them up to the light.

‘What are you looking for?'

‘Hairs. Have you got any tweezers?'

‘I'll go and look.'

She crossed to the dressing table and after searching for a few minutes came back to him with a pair.

‘Thank you.'

He scooped around inside the hats and eventually gave a cry of triumph and produced a longish hair, held between the tweezers.

‘There,' he said.

Elizabeth stared at it. ‘It's red.'

‘Indeed it is. And it belongs to one of the killers. But how to keep it, that's the problem.'

She went back to the dressing table and raked about, then returned with a small box, satin lined, that had once housed earrings.

‘Will this do?'

‘Perfectly,' and he carefully tucked the hair within. Vaguely, very vaguely, the colour reminded him of someone, but he could not for the life of him think who it was.

A search of the second bonnet proved less favourable. It was full of the smell of sweet pomade and John imagined that the wearer must have slicked his hair down into a net and put the bonnet on over the lot.

‘Where did you find all this?'

‘In a pile at the bottom of the stairs.'

‘Then it must be as you thought. They could have gone on to Exeter and boarded a stagecoach and be halfway to anywhere by now.'

‘John, we've got to go and see the Constable. He must get on to the case. If those two blackguards get away with this I shall be furious.'

‘I didn't realize that you were that attached to the Earl of St Austell,' the Apothecary said wryly.

‘He can be damned. It is the innocent victims I am concerned about.'

She was itching to be on the move, to do her part in bringing the criminals to justice. She slapped John's hat on his head and headed for the staircase without another word. He followed behind her, carrying the box with the hair in it, and, telling himself not to be afraid, began to descend that nightmarish staircase. And then his eye was caught by something. Something dropped on one of the stairs. It was a man's handkerchief and on it were smears of carmine and white as if someone had wiped it over their face to remove their make-up. It could as easily have belonged to a belle or beau of fashion, yet John's instinct told him it was a man's. He snatched it up and put it in his pocket for more careful examination later on.

They reached Exeter about forty minutes later, having gone like the wind. John, terrified by the ordeal of riding fast, had clung on for dear life, losing his hat and his stirrup at one point. The hat he gave up as a bad job, the stirrup he eventually regained. Panting, mud streaked and definitely pale, he arrived at Tobias Miller's house in the High Street, hoping that the citizens of Exeter still held on to their custom of reappointing Toby when it was their turn to undertake the much-hated job. Elizabeth, looking cool as a cucumber and calm to boot, slid out of the saddle and knocked at the front door. A round-cheeked, jolly little woman answered, explaining that she was his sister.

‘No, my Lady, Tobias has gone off to Lady Sidmouth's house. Appears there was a terrible shooting up there last night. He went off soon after dawn when one of her footmen arrived in a coach.'

The Apothecary groaned aloud and spoke forcefully.

‘Elizabeth, I am going off to have breakfast. The horse is exhausted and so am I. You do as you please.'

He had not intended to sound so brusque but obviously it touched a spark with the Marchesa. She was silent for a moment or two and then she said, ‘You're quite right. We must give the animals a rest. I'll join you.'

They did not speak a great deal during the meal until John covered one of Elizabeth's hands with his and said, ‘Thank you for last night. It was tremendous and exciting. And worth all the riding.' He laughed then and added, ‘In every sense.'

She laughed back and, pulling his face towards hers, plonked a kiss on his nose. ‘I suggest we take the horses home, then change. And we'll go to Lady Sidmouth's by coach.'

‘I utterly agree with you,' John said thankfully.

Tobias Miller stood in the Grand Saloon and looked about him carefully. Then he crossed to the French doors and let himself out into the garden, seeing if the villains had left any visible tracks behind them. Sure enough, there were a couple of footprints in the flower bed and Toby, after staring at them for a moment or two, took out a little ruler from his inner pocket and measured them. They were clearly not left by a woman – unless she had simply enormous feet – and the indent of the heel was larger than any left by a woman's shoe. Taking out a notebook from another hidden pocket, he made a rough pencil sketch of the footprint before stepping back into the Saloon.

Lady Sidmouth was inside, looking more than a little miserable.

‘I cannot think why there should have been such an attack. And at a wedding feast. It really is too bad.'

‘My Lady, may I sit down?' asked Toby politely.

‘Oh there I am forgetting common courtesy. Please do, Constable Miller. Now how can I assist?'

‘First of all, Madam, I would like a list of all the people present yesterday, including their addresses, if such a thing should be possible.'

‘Oh yes indeed, it most certainly is. It was a wedding and we had sent invitations and listed all those who could come and those who refused. I will get a servant to fetch it for you.' She rang a little bell and when a footmen came ordered him to fetch the wedding list and also bring some refreshment for Constable Miller.

‘Thank you, Ma'am, you are very kind. A cup of tea would be pleasant. And now, if you'll forgive me, I would like to speak of the events of yesterday afternoon.'

‘Certainly.'

‘These assassins. You say they wore brown shifts and poke bonnets, but did you conclude they were disguises, to hide their true identity?'

‘Oh quite definitely. I thought they were men, in fact. You see, they had big hands and feet and quite broad shoulders. One of them definitely, though the other was smaller.'

‘Um. And though they shot at everyone, would you say the target was the Earl of St Austell?'

‘That really is hard to conclude. It seemed to me that they were on a mad killing spree. But that doesn't really make any sense. But then, what does?'