Death in the Setting Sun (21 page)

He ran through the possibilities in his head. It could have been almost anyone in the cast of the masque or in the audience, with the exception of Princess Amelia. But why except her? Just because she had royal blood in her veins did not exempt her from wrongdoing. He thought back. Where had the others been? But try as he might he could not remember. Everyone had been present during the performance, of course, but afterwards it had been a melee, a great rainbow of people moving from place to place.

Much as it hurt him, John forced himself to think of the last time he had seen Emilia alive. He had looked out of the window and seen a figure in a red cloak moving swiftly amongst the dark trees. At the time he had thought it was Priscilla but that notion was soon to be shattered. The only person who had remained in the room while he had watched her was the unpleasant pock-marked footman, Benedict. He, at least, could be cleared.

It was as he was walking over the bridge and starting towards the house, that he heard footsteps and automatically froze behind a tree. To his amazement he saw that it was Lady Theydon and Michael O’Callaghan, a couple he would not have placed together if he had been asked for an opinion.

“… but Michael, I have already loaned you five pounds,” the woman was saying.

“But fairest lady, I have spent that on living in Brentford. And now I must return to London with empty pockets.”

“The answer is no.”

“But, dear sweet …”

“Enough of your silvered tongue. I have listened to it too well and too often. You must make your own way in future.”

The voice took on the husky timbre that John so admired. “I swear to you by all that’s holy that I will pay you back every last penny piece, so help me God.”

“You have lived like a lordling. How else could you have squandered so much. I know what you’re up to, Michael. You want to win the heart of Georgiana and you are showering her with frills and furbelows. Well, she’s a married woman, my dear. And a married woman she will stay.”

“Not while there’s breath in my body. I swear I’ll have her.”

“And what of Lord Hope? Do you think he is conveniently going to vanish in the night?”

“No, but Georgiana and I have plans.”

“Which are?”

The beautiful Irish voice dropped an octave. “Now that would be telling, my lady. Suffice it to say that our future is mapped out.”

She became excessively glutinous. “Well, I think you both very foolish. I want to have nothing further to do with the matter. And you can’t have any more money. Good evening to you, Sir.”

She had hardly got out of earshot when Michael started to curse volubly. “Oh, be Jasus, ’tis a miserable old bitch, so ’tis.”

John stepped out of his hiding place. “Good evening to you, Sir.”

The actor jumped. “Oh, I didn’t see you there. Good evening. Do I know you?”

John took a chance and said, “No, Sir, though I’ve seen you around.”

“Have you? That’s odd, for it’s staying in Brentford I am.

“Ah,” John answered, sounding as rural as possible, “I’ve seen you of a night with a beauteous lady, here by the bridge.”

Michael turned a glittering stare on him. “Oh, a peeping Tom are you?”

John bowed, tugging at his forelock. “Oh no, Sir, not I. I just be about farm business, checking on the stock and so on. I couldn’t help but notice her because she’s so extremely fair.”

The Irishman relaxed. “Aye, she’s that and more. Have you ever been in love, my man?”

“Yes, I have. Very much so,” the Apothecary answered quietly.

“What happened?”

“She died,” John answered bitterly.

For answer his arms were pinioned behind his back and the hat was knocked from his head with one deft blow.

“I thought it was you, so I did. Though I’ll admit you had me guessing for a moment. By God, I’ve got the wanted man. Why the devil did you come back?”

“To find Emilia’s murderer and to kill him,” John answered baldly.

“So you’re maintaining your innocence?”

“Of course I’m innocent. Why the hell should I kill the woman I was in love with? She was a good wife and a good mother, further she was expecting our second child. Logic alone should prove me free of guilt.” Michael gave him a knowing stare. “As a matter of fact, dear boy, I never thought you had done it. Oh, I know it looked bad, you covered in blood and holding the knife and all. But judging by our past relationship I had always thought you blameless.”

“Well you were right.”

“The Irish instinct.” The actor looked round. “It’s cold. Would it be safe, do you reckon, for you to step out to Brentford and have a drink with me?”

“I should imagine so. But how will I get there?”

“I’ve a conveyance waiting for me at the other side of the bridge. If you’d be kind enough to share it I’ve a mind to hear your side of the story.”

They crossed the wooden footbridge and there, sure enough, was a man with a cart.

“Not exactly a hackney but the best that the village had to offer,” said the Irishman with a grin.

They sat opposite one another, saying little, until the cart rolled into The Butts and finally came to a halt outside The Red Lion. John looked round for a Wanted poster but failed to see one.

“I’m staying here,” Michael O’Callaghan announced grandly, and led the way in.

It was obvious from the greeting he received that he had already talked his way into the good books of most of the regulars. So much so that having exchanged greetings he and John were given a fairly private place at a table.

“Now,” said the Irishman, downing a glass of wine in a swallow, “tell me everything.”

This John proceeded to do, leaving out no detail, even relating the story of Hugh Bellow’s accident at the fair.

“You were lucky to get that job.”

“Yes, I was. Though I must admit that I’ve never worked so hard in all my life. But what worries me, Michael, is the fact that I can’t get into the house — well, hardly at all. For how in heaven’s name am I going to catch the killer, stranded, as I am, at a distance?”

The actor sat silently, withdrawing a pipe from his pocket, lighting it and puffing. “Have you thought of a disguise?” he asked eventually.

“Well, I’ve dyed my hair.”

“Yes, but that alone is not enough. It’s your eyes that give you away. If you could hide those somehow …”

“Perhaps I should wear a black bandage like the Blind Beak.”

Michael removed the pipe and pointed the stem at John. “Wait, that’s given me an idea. How about an eye-patch and a limp? Could you not be a veteran of the recent war? Then all you need is for someone to introduce you into the Princess’s court and, by Jasus, you’re away.”

Priscilla, John thought. She’d be willing to present him as a friend.

“Would I have to increase my age at all?” he asked.

“No, you could have been wounded young as old.”

The Apothecary sat silently for a few minutes, toying with his wine glass. Then he said, “I’ll do it, by God.”

“And what about the Bellows, father and son?”

“I’ll ask them for a few days leave.”

“And if they refuse?”

“Then I’ll have to rethink. I really can’t leave them in the lurch at a time like this. Just pray they’ll see fit to release me.”

The Irishman shuffled in his seat then leant forward confidentially. “As a matter of fact I grew up on a farm.”

“Oh yes?” said John, feeling he knew where this was leading.

“Yes, till it failed. Anyway, I wouldn’t mind a week’s work. Fact of the matter is I’ve enough to pay my bill here then I’m clean out of money. I could do with a few shillings in my purse. What do you say? Will you ask them if I can have your job?”

“You would rather do that than return to London and acting?”

Michael O’Callaghan sighed. “Until my sweet girl goes back to town, I’d rather be here; however menial the task.”

He said this with full theatrical weight and the Apothecary laughed aloud. “Right. Come to the farm tomorrow morning. I’ll put it to Hugh Bellow.”

“You’re a gentleman, Sir.”

“Quite so,” John answered, and laughed again.

At first light the Apothecary rose and went to milk the cows. Then he let them out into the field. As ever his eyes were drawn to the spot where he had seen Emilia — or someone very like her — walk across his line of vision. But there was no one there and though he stood staring for several minutes, nothing happened, and he turned back towards the farm. It was at that moment John saw a familiar figure carrying a bag of luggage come striding down the track, and he waved with enthusiasm. Michael O’Callaghan had kept his part of the bargain and was arriving at Bellow’s Farm bright and early.

Seating the actor in the kitchen John hurried up the stairs to sort out Hugh, and was astonished to find him hobbling round the room on his crutches.

“Well, Sir, this is a surprise.”

“I thought the worst that could happen would be that I fell over.”

“Indeed, Sir, I want to ask you a favour.”

And John explained, only leaving out the manner of his disguise and the fact that Michael O’Callaghan was an actor, a profession much mistrusted by country folk.

“And you really think this week will be sufficient for you to discover who committed the crime.”

“It has to be, Sir. After that I believe the Princess will recover fully and pack up and return to London for the rest of the season.”

“You’re probably right. It is very rare for her to be here at this time of year.”

An hour later it was done and Hugh had shaken hands with Michael O’Callaghan. John had stowed his few belongings and in company with the farmer’s boy was off to the big house with the day’s produce. But instead of going to the kitchens he was dropped off in the drive, close to the stables, and went in search of Joe Jago. He found his old friend grooming a big chestnut stallion.

“Good morning, Joe,” John said in a whisper.

“Good morning, Sir,” Joe answered cheerfully. “That’s a fine horse you’re tending.”

“Aye, Sir, this is Eclipse. The Princess’s own mount.” John lowered his voice even further. “Joe, I’ve got to speak to you.”

“Go to where we talked before. Take your bag. Wait for me. I’ll be about another ten minutes.”

Walking nonchalantly and looking round to make sure that he was not being observed, John went to the rendezvous and sat down on the stone floor, closing his eyes. Immediately, unpleasant visions flashed before him; visions of Emilia lying dead, of crimson blood and white snow, of terrible gashes in her gut, of her recognising him before she died. He opened his lids, feeling near to tears. But yet again he controlled them. He had sworn to himself that he would not cry until this sorry affair was ended and this was something he meant to stick to.

He heard approaching footsteps and looking up saw Joe, a piece of straw between his teeth, smiling at him beatifically.

“Well, Sir, what’s afoot?”

“Plenty,” John answered, and told him of his plot to enter the house and, hopefully, to stay there.

“If they won’t put you up you can share my room over the stables,” the clerk said practically.

“Thanks, Joe. Now, what have you discovered?”

“Quite a lot, Sir. First — and I’m sure you’ll be amused by this — Benedict the footman has fallen madly in love with Lady Elizabeth.”

For no reason John felt thoroughly irritated though he joined in Joe’s uproarious laughter.

“And does she respond?” he asked when they had quietened down.

“Not she. But she’s leading him on because she thinks she might get facts out of him.”

“Oh good,” said John, not meaning it.

“Further, Lady Georgiana and Michael O’Callaghan are planning to run away together.”

“Yes, he told me something of that.”

“Lady Theydon plays an interesting role in all of it. She appears almost like a disapproving mama.”

“And what of Priscilla? Has there been any sign of her attacker?”

“Not a breath of him anywhere. That was a very odd business.”

“It must have been Emilia’s assailant, which proves Priscilla right. The original attack was intended for her all along.”

“Yes.” Joe looked thoughtful. “Unless …”

“What?”

“Nothing, Sir. I was just musing aloud.”

“Please tell me.”

“No, Sir, I can’t. I was following an idea which came to naught.”

With that the Apothecary had to be satisfied. He turned to Joe. “Is there anyone you suspect? Anyone at all?”

Joe looked thoughtful. “They’re all up to something, as people from the higher walks of society always are. Consequently I suspect them all, yet I have nothing truly tangible to lay against any of them. The difficulty is, Sir, that much as I pick up gossip here in the stables, I can’t get into the house and talk to the folks concerned.”

“Exactly what I’ve been feeling. But now, thanks to Michael O’Callaghan’s cunning conceit, I’ve a chance of doing just that.”