Death on the Romney Marsh (34 page)

Despite the fact that he was completely exhausted, his brain seemed to be working sharply. If Louis were staying in Hastings, John considered, and knew that he had been recognised, the chances were high that he would have moved on to another hostelry in order to escape further attention. And an enquiry from the serving girl confirmed that there were two other large coaching inns, serving differing destinations, in the town.

‘I should try The Maiden's Head and The Lamb and Flag, if I was you,' she said, giving John an impudent look.

‘Thank you,' he answered, tipping her, then went on his way, having left his bag in the girl's care.

The Lamb and Flag was indeed large and splendid, and also full of a great many noisy children, all of whom seemed to be travelling to Deal. Making a mental note never to go there, the Apothecary proceeded on, only to discover that The Maiden's Head was situated a fair distance from the town, overlooking the sea. By now he felt utterly exhausted and was glad to go into the travellers' parlour and take a seat.

One thing he had not been prepared for was the fact that the Comte was sitting on a settle directly opposite him, reading a newspaper. Collecting himself, John took a mouthful of brandy, then said in a quiet voice, ‘Don't run away Louis, please. I haven't come here to harm you in any way. I just want to find out what is going on. Serafina believes that you are having an affaire. Is that true?'

The Comte de Vignolles's hands trembled slightly as he lowered the newspaper and looked to see who was addressing him. Then he scowled.

‘John, damn you! Why are you such an interfering busybody? I could hardly believe it when you came into The Swan the other night. You, of all people, in Serafina's thrall as you once were.'

‘What difference does that make?'

‘Only the fact that for her sake you'd worry the matter like a dog a bone. Anyone else might have accepted the fact that I was visiting the sea for a few days. But not you, my friend. Not you.'

‘In that case, why not tell me what you are doing here? I shall not breathe a word, not to your wife or anyone else, I can assure you of that.'

Louis's scowl deepened. ‘It's not another woman, that much I will swear to.'

‘No, I never thought it was.' John leaned forward. ‘Shall I tell you what I believe?'

‘Please do.'

‘I think you're engaged on work concerning the national security of the country to which you owe allegiance.'

The Comte gaped and the Apothecary knew that he had gone to the heart of the matter. ‘You cunning little bastard,' Louis gasped.

John looked grim. ‘My friend, I beg you to cease this folly. The authorities know all about you. It is only a matter of time before they come to arrest you.'

De Vignolles stared uncomprehendingly.

‘Listen, they could hang me for a traitor for telling you this, but I heard it from Mr Fielding himself. Louis, for the love of God, stop now, or you leave me no alternative but to inform.'

The Comte's gaze constricted. ‘What exactly did the Blind Beak say to you?'

‘That there is a known French spy, someone acceptable to London society, working in our very midst, and that he has been doing so for some while.'

De Vignolles's dark eyes suddenly glinted. ‘And you say they have no idea who the man is?'

‘It is only a matter of time before they find out. Oh, Louis, I'm begging you. For the sake of Serafina and your child, stop now, before it is too late.'

‘And if I do, you would agree not to betray me?'

‘It may be treacherous but you and I have known each other a very long time.'

Louis suddenly burst out laughing and, leaning across, ruffled John's hair with his hand. ‘What a peculiar creature you are! Listen you clever little apothecary, you've worked it out but come to the wrong conclusion. I'm on your side. I was approached by the Secretary of State – Serafina has gambled with him in the past – and asked if I would help track down the French spy of whom you've just spoken. Naturally, I had to give a Bible oath of secrecy, which I have just broken in order to tell you this.' The Comte de Vignolles crossed himself.

John stared, then drank his brandy in a gulp. ‘You are …' He lowered his voice. ‘You are a secret agent on the British side?'

‘Of course I am. I was born here, remember. I adore visiting France, but I owe it no fidelity whatsoever.'

‘So how can we reassure your wife that you are not keeping a mistress somewhere?'

‘You did not swear a pledge, did you?' asked Louis, still laughing.

‘No.'

‘Then I thought the answer would have been obvious.'

The Apothecary recovered his equilibrium. ‘But why are you here? In Hastings?'

The Comte inclined forward. ‘Because he's in this area,' he whispered.

‘How do you know?'

‘Signals are going out from the hill above the town. Once I nearly caught the fellow in action but he just managed to elude me.'

‘Someone is signalling from Winchelsea as well, using a most extraordinary code. So extraordinary, indeed, that a French frigate ran aground the other night.'

‘Perhaps the signaller is a British agent in disguise.'

‘Somehow I don't think so,' said John, and grinned.

The next hour passed splendidly, with a great deal of brandy being consumed. In such quantities, in fact, that the Apothecary hired a man with a trap to take him the short distance to The Swan. Then, having booked a place on the post chaise to London and got aboard, he promptly fell asleep, woke to dine; then slept again and did not wake till the carriage's midnight arrival in the city. There, with no hackney coaches to be seen and the hour being late, John booked a room at The White Hart, went to bed and slept till morning, waking much invigorated and ready for the day.

His first call was to Bow Street where Mr Fielding was just preparing to go into court. Having arranged to come back at a later hour, the Apothecary proceeded to Dr Willes's house in Hill Street, only to find that the Bishop was still in Bath and would not be back until evening. This left him with three choices; to go home, to go to his shop, or to see Serafina. And she, being the nearest and also in great need of reassurance, was John's first choice.

Cutting across to Berkeley Square, the Apothecary made his way down Bruton Street, then into Conduit Street, and finally up Great George Street and into Hanover Square, where the de Vignolles resided at number twelve.

It being one of those strange mornings, John rang the bell only to discover that the Comtesse and her daughter were out taking the air. But as he turned to go he saw them coming out of the garden that stood in the centre of the square and hurried across to join them. Each adult taking one of Italia's hands, they walked back and sat on a stone seat beneath a budding tree.

‘My dear, this is such a pleasant surprise. I had no idea you were back in town,' Serafina said with a smile, watching as Italia wandered off to play battledore and shuttlecock by herself.

‘I returned from Hastings late last night. Listen, my friend, I saw Louis there.'

The Comtesse's smile vanished. ‘I wondered where he was. Oh, John, he's been missing for a week, making some ridiculous excuse about visiting an aunt. It's all too terrible. My heart is breaking.'

‘Then mend it,' said the Apothecary crisply. ‘There is no other woman I assure you.'

‘Really?' John nodded and Serafina burst into sobs of relief, saying in a muffled voice, ‘Then what the devil is he doing?'

The Apothecary wiped her tears with his handkerchief. ‘Sweetheart, be calm, for what I am about to tell you is a great secret which you must never divulge.'

She stared at him moistly. ‘He's not a spy, is he?'

‘Yes, of course he is. But for England not France. He has been sent to Hastings to track down the French master spy who has infiltrated London society.'

‘Is that true?'

‘Every word, I swear it.'

Serafina flung herself into John's arms, weeping harder than ever. ‘Oh Louis, Louis,' she sobbed. ‘How could I ever have mistrusted you?'

John felt his patience stretch itself a little thin. ‘Come now Serafina, it is pointless wasting your energy on self-recrimination. Better by far to invite me to your home and let me talk over my hunt for the two spies with you. I need your fine brain, I really do.'

As always with a woman of such powerful character, the Comtesse instantly responded, straightening her back and wiping away her remaining tears.

‘Of course, I will do all that I can to help. If Louis is contributing his all, then so must I. Come Italia, we are going indoors now. Your nursemaid will bring you out later.'

So saying, the three of them crossed the road and entered number twelve. John making his way to the spacious upstairs drawing room while Serafina saw to her child. He was staring out of the window at the gardens when the Comtesse came back in, and turned to smile at her.

‘Did you know you are still beautiful, even when you weep?'

‘No, I did not. You are an idle flatterer,' Serafina answered severely. ‘Now, how may I help you?'

‘If I describe all the people who could possibly be the Frog and the Moth, will you pick them out for me?'

‘I don't know that I can do that, but I will certainly try.'

‘Very well.' They sat down in opposite chairs and the Comtesse rang the bell for refreshments. ‘Do begin,' she said.

‘Well, to start with the highest, there is the Marquis of Rye. A strange dark fellow, who has decided to marry beneath him. He was betrothed to his sister's teacher, Henrietta, but fell in love with her sister, Rosalind, instead.'

‘How very cruel. But why should he spy for France?'

‘When he was young he was an inveterate gambler and spendthrift. He could have signed up with the enemy then in return for money and now be too far enmeshed to get out. And he also has French blood.'

‘I see.'

‘Then there's Captain Nathaniel Pegram, a most extraordinary chap. He, too, is in love with Rosalind who, by the way, is a ravishing beauty, but whether this passion was ever consummated I am not certain. However, the Captain has probably had a mistress recently because one night I heard him arguing with a woman about a picture he drew of Rosalind in the nude.'

‘Did she pose for it?'

‘I don't know. He says not.'

‘What kind of woman is this Rosalind?'

‘Unbelievably vain, and also unbelievably self-seeking. Like an ambitious butterfly.'

Serafina pealed with laughter. ‘What a wonderful description. Tell me about the rest.'

‘Next on the social scale comes Sir Ambrose Ffloote, who likes to be known as the Squire.' And John gave a rather brilliant word portrait of the man, which he rounded off by saying, ‘He is so awful that he is almost likeable, if you understand me.'

‘I have heard a saying that people grow like their dogs. Does the Squire resemble The Pup?'

‘In a way, yes. They both huff and fart about the place.'

Serafina laughed once more. ‘His wife is magnificently long-suffering, I take it?'

‘Very, but interestingly she let slip that she was out one night when the smugglers were abroad in Winchelsea. I have never had the chance to ask her about it but it certainly means that she does not live as sheltered a life as she likes to make out. It also indicates that she is not as feeble as she would like to pretend.'

The Comtesse nodded. ‘I don't like the sound of her at all. Nor of her husband. They seem highly suspicious to me, both of them. As for Rosalind, she is clearly a social climber of the very worst kind. Now tell me about the rest.'

‘There are three professional men, the doctor, the rector and Apothecary Gironde.'

‘Are they beyond reproach?'

‘Most certainly not. Dr Hayman admits quite freely to consorting with smugglers, while the rector is the father of the fair Rosalind, and for a country clergyman manages to keep his family in quite some style.'

‘Perhaps the Marquis gives him money to help out.'

‘And there again, perhaps not. Do the funds to keep his wife and daughters in the latest fashions come from France I wonder?'

Serafina spread her hands. ‘Go on.'

‘Mr Gironde is also very odd. He lied to Joe Jago about meeting the Scarecrow but confessed to it quite openly to me. Furthermore, his wife is a bundle of trouble.'

And John told the Comtesse about the poison in the Elixir of Youth, and about Nan Gironde's indiscretion with the French spymaster.

‘Did it go to the ultimate?' Serafina asked, wide-eyed.

‘Heaven alone knows. The profligate swine seems to have made very free with his pendulum whilst in Winchelsea. He tried to seduce the fattest girl in town in return for meeting her mother.'

‘Her mother? Why?'

‘Because Mrs Finch is very wealthy and knows everybody. She also delights in young men, or so rumour has it.'

‘Might she spy for France in return for a regular supply?'

‘Of boys do you mean?' Serafina nodded. ‘Indeed she might.'

‘They all sound highly dubious to me. Who have you left out?'

‘Mrs Finch's other daughters, two of whom are rather young, though extremely forward for their age.'

‘And the others?'

‘The eldest sister, Sophie. Another large girl longing for attention. And Sarah, whom the Frenchman tried to seduce.'

‘They both sound extremely vulnerable and ripe for any kind of adventure, even spying. Is there anybody else?'

‘Mrs Tireman, the Rector's wife. She is a
femme formidable
. Very masculine in a way. She had a French mother and is bilingual. How she could have given birth to two such exquisite girls is difficult to imagine.'

‘You are referring to Henrietta and Rosalind?'

‘Yes, I am.'