Death at the Wedding Feast (26 page)

The sound of the carriage wheels starting up lifted him out of his thoughts and he crossed to the window to watch them go. The coach was just turning in the sweep and he noticed that it had the coat of arms of the St Austells emblazoned on the door. He studied the design with interest, noticing the spread black eagle, its red tongue protruding from its beak, its glaring eye staring fiercely, the words
Loyal A Mort
written above. He thought about the brothers who had just left him and wondered whether either of them could live up to the family motto. He very much doubted it.

Going upstairs to change, John carefully laid the piece of black lace he had found on the bed for Elizabeth to see. Then fishing deeper in his pocket he found the handkerchief he had used to wipe his eyes after a piece of the red cliff had fallen. It was absolutely sodden and had gone a rusty colour, so badly in fact that John threw it in a bowl of water which he had used to wash himself before he changed. Then he set about putting on night clothes, this time a rich damson shade. From the window he heard a carriage coming up the drive and saw Elizabeth's dark head, a little bundle seated on each knee, her arms tightly round them, protecting and loving them. He knew in that moment that he could never separate the Marchesa from her sons. That she would fight like a tigress to keep them by her side and that he would have to settle for that. A thought that made him sad and melancholy. But he put those feelings away as he descended the stairs to greet her.

After the twins had been bathed and put to bed – a ritual which John enjoyed very much – he and Elizabeth dined informally at a small table in the parlour. Over the meal he proceeded to tell her of the day's events. She listened attentively and eventually said, ‘There is something there of interest but I can't for the life of me tell you what. I shall sleep on it and hope it comes to me.'

‘I can't tell you how frightening it was when the cliff began to crumble.'

Elizabeth looked thoughtful. ‘Some of the red cliffs round here can be very dangerous indeed.'

But John could tell by the way that she spoke that her mind was on something else. He knew to question her would not be productive. That she must think whatever it was through and tell him when she had assimilated her ideas. He put his hand over hers.

‘I love you, you know that.'

‘Yes I do. And I love you, you strange little apothecary.'

The meal finished, they went for a stroll in the gardens.

‘The new Earl and brother George called here today.'

‘Oh? What did they want?'

‘To know if either of us knew the whereabouts of their sister.'

‘And?'

‘I lied magnificently. Said she had probably become deranged and gone back to Cornwall.'

‘And all the time she is safely in her lover's arms.'

‘Let it be hoped that they have packed up and gone.' John turned to look at her. ‘I am fairly certain that Lady Sidmouth has guessed the truth.'

‘She will never breathe a word, I can assure you of that. She is one of the strangest looking yet kindest people I know. And that is why I have asked her to be godmother to the twins.'

‘They are to be christened?'

‘As soon as this monstrous murder is cleared up.'

‘And who will you have as the other godmother?'

‘Why,' said Elizabeth, ‘your daughter Rose of course.'

Twenty-Six

The Marchesa had gone for an early morning ride and John ate his breakfast alone, thinking that there was one person left on the list of people he had promised to see, and that was Mrs Cushen. When he had last met Tobias Miller the Constable had informed him of her address – or rather that of the distant relation whom she had come to Exeter to comfort – and the Apothecary was just wondering whether his hindquarters could put up with another day in the saddle, when Elizabeth walked in.

She was fresh from her morning ride, her skin glowing, her eyes clear, smelling of the sweet countryside. John knew with a lurch of his heart that whatever happened in the future he would never forget this moment of seeing her like a goddess of spring, of loving her, of knowing that unless the situation changed he must one day inevitably part from her.

She smiled at him. ‘You are looking wistful. Why?'

‘I was just wondering if my behind could take another ride to Exeter.'

‘You want to borrow the coach again? Well, you can. I intend to stay at home today and mull over all the things you have told me and come to some sort of conclusion. Because there is a thread there and I am determined to find it.'

‘Sweetheart, I could not manage without you.'

‘I think you could do so perfectly well. Remember that you are now running a successful company as well as having your own shop. I think you are a highly competent young man.'

‘Mrs Fortune is in charge of the business. She is the one you should call competent.'

‘And is she beautiful as well as clever?'

‘Not beautiful exactly but certainly very attractive.'

‘Ah ha,' answered the Marchesa, and would say no more.

An hour later the coach set off for Exeter and proceeded at a fine pace towards the city. Somewhat to the Apothecary's surprise it stopped at a small house immediately opposite the great cathedral and the coachman called down, ‘This is the place, Sir.'

Thinking that the lady would not have far to go to pray, John climbed out and knocked at the door, then waited. There was no reply and he was just about to turn away when he heard the shuffle of feet and the bolts being drawn back. The door opened an inch or two and there stood Mr Cushen, looking bleary and still in his night attire.

‘Oh forgive me, Sir,' the Apothecary said pleasantly. ‘I just came to call to see how you were. But I can tell this is an inconvenient time so I shall leave you in peace.'

The door opened wider and Mr Cushen answered, ‘Oh no, come in, I beg you. You are an apothecary are you not? My wife has fallen into an hysterical fit and I have been awake all night trying to calm her. Please see if you can do anything. Anything at all.'

John turned to the coachman and said, ‘If you don't mind hurrying to the herbalist's shop on High Street and getting him to give you an infusion of Black Horehound. Then when you come back, knock at the front door and I will answer.'

The carriage rattled away and John followed Mr Cushen up the stairs and into a dark and rather smelly bedroom where Mrs Cushen lay twisting and moaning on a narrow bed.

‘My dear Madam,' said John, crouching down beside her. ‘What is the matter? How can I help you?'

‘You can find Herman for me,' she said, then suddenly started to cry, throwing herself at John and weeping all over his shirt.

‘Millicent, hush dear,' said Mr Cushen from the doorway, a strange urgency in his tone.

John glanced at him and saw how white the poor man was. Indeed he looked the very image of a being in an agony of spirit.

‘Why, where has he gone?' he asked.

‘Oh, he's drinking in some low tavern with his equally low associates. But he has been away several days now.'

A tremendous flash of inspiration came to the Apothecary as he recalled the red hair he had gathered in Wildtor Grange. He produced from his pocket the awful shabby garter that Cordelia had picked up at the wedding feast and which Toby Miller had decided it would be better if John kept.

‘I came to return him this,' he said, opening his palm to display it.

The parents stared at it, then Mr Cushen said, ‘Yes, that's his. He lost it somewhere or other. Where did you find it?'

As quick as a lightning flash the whole picture came into focus. Herman's sudden wealth in the inn the other day, his fondness for the Exeter low-life. Surely one of them had been hired by the person behind the killings and had asked Herman to help him execute the plan. Into John's pictorial memory he flashed a picture of the two old women who had come in to kill the company and, sure enough, the shorter of the two had been the same build as young Mr Cushen.

‘It was found at the wedding feast,' he said in a calm voice. ‘It was dropped by one of the murderers.'

His father looked at John blearily. ‘No, he . . .'

‘The truth will always come out,' said the Apothecary, cutting across him, not unkindly. ‘And I think you half-guessed it already. Didn't you?'

‘What will happen to him?' whispered his mother.

‘I don't know,' answered John.

But he did. Herman would be tried by judge and jury and the sentence of death would be passed on him. And that would be the end of his wretched life. But behind him would be left two people who would grieve for the rest of their days on earth and who did not deserve to endure such a terrible punishment.

There was a knocking at the door and the coachman returned with the physick. John administered both poor wretches with a strong measure and finally left the house when they began to calm down. Then he went into the cathedral and offered up a prayer for the salvation of Herman's soul and for some sort of peace to be granted to his parents. Then he went in search of the Constable.

Tobias Miller was at home, sitting at his desk, going through a sheaf of papers. He removed his pair of little glasses, perched on the bridge of his nose, and listened quietly while John recounted the scene at the house where the hysterical Mrs Cushen was residing. The he sprang to his feet.

‘So that's who the killer is. Well, we'll find him. He's bound to be in one of the alehouses drinking his brains into a pulp.'

He rapidly made a list of all the inns of Exeter and divided it in half.

‘Here you are, Sir. You can start at The Dragon by the East Gate and work your way through.'

‘What shall I do if I see him?'

‘Nothing. Engage him in conversation, keep him talking. If I don't find him first I'll follow in your footsteps. In any event we meet in The Blackamore's Head in an hour's time. Better still, bring him with you if you possibly can. He strikes me as a rather solitary young man from what you've said. I think he'll be glad of a companion to drink with.'

The Dragon revealed nobody and so turned out the rest of John's perambulations through the drinking houses of town. Eventually he turned up at The Blackamore's Head, slightly weary, and glad to see that the Constable had got there before him.

‘Did you find him?' John asked.

‘Yes, I found him alright.'

‘What happened?'

‘I arrested him on the spot and he threw a punch at me that caught me completely unawares and felled me to the ground. Then he and his companion – a long, lanky fellow who was probably the other old lady that you saw – took off at a rate of knots. I ran after them, I raised a hue and cry, other people joined in, but the villains were too fast for any of us. They completely vanished in one of the many alleyways. I have failed in my duty, Mr Rawlings, and to prove it I've got an eye that will shine like a shitten barn door tomorrow.'

John leaned forward and saw that the Constable's eye was indeed turning a dramatic shade of black. ‘Come on. We'll go to the apothecary in High Street. He can put some leaves on that that will greatly reduce the swelling.'

‘But what about our two runaways?'

‘Leave them for the time being. We can put up posters and somebody will turn them in, you may depend on it.'

John had never been more glad in his life than to have a coach at his disposal. He took the ailing Tobias to the apothecary, saw his wound dressed, escorted him home and then set off to join Elizabeth who was waiting for him, sitting thoughtfully in the Blue Room and staring into space. She jumped up as soon as she heard him come in and said, ‘There is much I need to discuss with you, my dear.'

‘Sweetheart, can we talk over dinner? I have had nothing to eat since breakfast.'

‘It will have to be supper. I dined at four with Lady Sidmouth.'

‘Did you now? And did she have much of interest to say?'

‘Very much so. I promise to tell you all about it as soon as we are seated.'

John hurried upstairs to change and on the way looked into the nursery. In two cots on either side of the room his sons lay sleeping peacefully. First he leant over James, noticing the details of his face which seemed to be changing. The Apothecary wondered then when exactly it was that babies grow. Every day you saw them and they looked the same, but all the time they were doing that miraculous thing – getting bigger.

He crossed over to Jasper, identical in every way to his brother. How sweet he was, a flicker of light coming through a gap in the drawn curtains illuminating the sweep of dark lashes against the creamy skin. The hair, curly like the Apothecary's but midnight black like Elizabeth's, was already growing thickly on his head. John tiptoed back to James and saw that he, too, had a good dark thatch. His eyes filled with tears and he wished for the millionth time that everything could have been different and that Elizabeth had been a woman who wished for a settled life. But then would he have loved her as much and as powerfully as he did? He knew the answer as he left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

She was playing with the piece of veiling and looking thoughtful as he came downstairs ten minutes later. She smiled up at him.

‘Would you like some sherry?' she asked.

‘Indeed I would.'

He sat down opposite her and told her, quite quietly, that Herman Cushen had been one of the two assassins and that though the Constable had given chase he had lost him in the back streets of Exeter.

‘But why him?' Elizabeth said. ‘What grudge could he possibly bear against the people he shot?'