Death in the Valley of Shadows (17 page)

“Do you think he intends to hide out there?”

“Probably. I imagine he feels the country is not safe, that the Runners will go back for him.”

“But he has to attend his wife’s funeral. Where and when is that to be held?”

“I have no idea. West Clandon, I imagine.”

“If those two louts are in charge they will do the thing that gives them least trouble.”

“Then West Clandon it is. Mr. Rawlings…” Sir John lowered his voice.

“Yes, Sir?”

“You are sure that the Shadow was poisoned?”

“As sure as I can be without an autopsy, yes.”

“And what do you think was used?”

“Not one of the Wolfsbanes. They make the tongue and lips swell. No, my guess - based on the violence of the symptoms - would be Water Hemlock. Easy to administer - it looks like parsley - it could be added to food or, chopped fine, put into a drink. I think it was given to Mrs. Bussell at the wake by a person unknown.”

“The husband?”

John made a slight face. “Not necessarily. Remember, all the family were there, to say nothing of Mrs. Trewellan and Spotty.”

“Who?” said the Blind Beak.

The Apothecary turned a laugh into a cough. “Her son. None of them liked Ariadne if you recall.”

And he repeated all that Lieutenant Mendoza had said, including the rumours that were being spread about the Lieutenant himself.

The Magistrate sat silently, then said, “Mr. Rawlings, may I ask a favour? In time that you would not be devoting to your wife and child would you go and see Mrs. Trewellan for me? I would not like it thought that we blamed Montague Bussell without enquiring further.”

“Yes, I’ll do that, Sir. I saw her at the funeral and thought her quite intriguing.”

“Why?”

“Because she was terribly similar to Ariadne in type; large and untidy and not particularly attractive.”

“The sort of woman poor Fenchurch went for, it would seem.”

“Yes.” John paused, then said, “I think you’re right to question others, Sir.”

“But you would agree that everything points to Bussell?”

“Yes, his being guilty makes total sense. He would have known all along that his wife was unfaithful but waited his moment to get rid of them, wife and lover, both in such very different ways. None the less, you are doing the right thing by asking further afield.”

“Can you see Mrs. Trewellan tomorrow?”

“Of course I can.”

“I can only express my gratitude, my friend.”

“And what of Mr. Bussell? How will you find him?”

“I’ll leave that to Jago and the Runners,” said the Blind Beak, and finished his glass of champagne with a certain satisfaction.

The minute he left Bow Street, hailing a chair so that he would not be late home, John had the strangest feeling that a weird chain of events had clicked into motion and that however hard he might try to escape them, he was going to get caught in the web. Yet when he stepped into his house all seemed quiet enough, other than for the laughter of Sir Gabriel and Maud Alleyn, surely the happiest pair of grandparents in the kingdom.

“I’m back,” he called, and his adoptive father stepped into the hall to greet him.

“You have a visitor, my dear.”

John raised his eyebrows. “Who?”

“A Mrs. Rayner. She said you knew her. I have shown her into the small parlour.” Sir Gabriel smiled. “She seemed surprised to see me. I think she was under the impression that you lived alone.”

“I doubt that. However, I was by myself when she called previously. She’s Aidan Fenchurch’s daughter,” he added by way of explanation, for his father still wore a slightly whimsical expression of amusement.

Jocasta’s back was turned as the Apothecary entered the room and he saw by the heave of her shoulders that she was crying. Instantly, he went to her.

“Mrs. Rayner, please don’t distress yourself. I know that you have been through a very difficult time but it’s over now. You must put the past behind you.”

“Is it though?” she asked in a low sibilant voice. “Is it over? I wonder.”

She turned to face him, her face bleached ice white, her black clothes accentuating the thinness of her spare frame.

“Jocasta,” he said, throwing convention aside, “what is the matter? Terrible things have happened recently, I know. But what in particular has upset you so much?”

She collapsed into a chair, weeping bitterly, quite unable to speak, and it was at that fraught moment that Sir Gabriel Kent put his head round the door. He gave John an extremely startled look and inwardly the Apothecary groaned.

“My dear Madam,” said the older man, hurrying to Jocasta’s side. “You are clearly unwell. What may I fetch you?”

She gazed at him piteously but still could not utter.

“A brandy,” said John shortly. “That should help.”

“Of course, of course.” Sir Gabriel paused in the doorway. “So sorry to interrupt but your wife is asking for you, my boy.”

Jocasta found her voice. “I am being a nuisance. It is best that I go.” She got to her feet.

John put out a restraining arm. “Please don’t leave. If you can just give me ten minutes to sort things out, you and I can have a long chat.”

She gave him a look in which lay concealed a hidden message.

“I will speak with you another time,” she murmured. “I have moved back to my house in Mayfair. This is my address.” She passed him a folded piece of paper.

John put it in his pocket without looking at it. “Please, Jocasta. Wait until you have recovered your spirits.”

She shook her head. “No, I have called most inconveniently. I
 
know you mentioned a wife, Mr. Rawlings, but somehow or other I had formed the impression that you and she lived apart. But now I find you in the very bosom of your family. For me to arrive without an appointment was both inexcusable and inconsiderate.”

“I might do the same to you one day,” he answered, trying to raise a smile.

Jocasta looked him straight in the eye. “That would be different. I live alone,” she said, then swept into the hall and out through the front door.

“Oh dear,” said Sir Gabriel.

“Oh dear indeed,” answered John.

He drew the paper from his pocket, determined to call on the widow shortly and find out what it was that she wanted to say to him. Then he stared at the message for a moment before thrusting it back into his pocket. For no address had been written there: simply the words, ‘There is a poisoner in our midst’.

Chapter Ten

J
ohn truly knew what it was to feel on the horns of a dilemma. All his training at the hands of London’s Principal Magistrate, Sir John Fielding, cried out for him to speed up the road after Jocasta Rayner, to persuade her back to his house, and there to comfort and placate her until she told him what she had meant by the stark message written on the piece of paper she had handed to
him
. All his instincts as a husband and a new father, were to leap up the stairs to the main bedroom and there to cuddle and kiss his wife and play with Miss Rose Rawlings, that interesting and attractive new addition to his household.

“Oh God!” he said aloud.

His father overheard him. “What did that piece of paper say?”

“See for yourself,” and John handed it to him.

Sir Gabriel’s golden eyes grew wide. “How very interesting. I wonder what she means.”

“She must have seen something at the wake. Something that only now that Ariadne has died does she recognise as a poisoning. Oh ‘zounds, but I need to speak to that woman.”

“Obviously. But this is not the moment, John. She has trailed her coat cleverly but I do not think this is the right time to follow it.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“If she had been putting on an act - I repeat the word
if-
she could not have done so more adroitly. She has you thoroughly intrigued and ready to do anything to find out what she meant by that cryptic note.”

“That’s true enough.”

“Supposing she were bluffing. Have you thought of that?”

John stared at Sir Gabriel aghast. “No, I haven’t. What do you mean? How could she be bluffing?”

“Because she might be the poisoner, hiding herself in the depths of this fog that she has conjured up. Surely, is it not a ruse of the guilty party to arouse suspicion about another? Oh my dear boy, leave Mrs. Rayner to her own devices. She will come to you, sure as fate.”

Much as the Apothecary would love to have denied every word, liking Jocasta the best of Aidan’s daughters, there was a ring of reality about Sir Gabriel’s words that stopped him in his tracks. If Montague Bussell were innocent… But he dismissed this thought. The case against the man was strong indeed. He was the principal suspect and must be treated as such.

“Damnation,” said John loudly and at that moment, in the manner of a truly silly piece of theatre, the front door pealed.

Samuel Swann stood there, large as life, his features mobile, prepared to look joyful or serious depending on the mood within the house. In his arms he carried a large parcel, its paper breaking to reveal what appeared to be the head of a wooden horse. On top of this were flowers, above this again, Samuel’s grin as he saw that both Sir Gabriel and John were jolly.

“Is Miss Rawlings in?” he asked.

“Do you have an appointment with her?” asked John seriously. “I’m her father and I’ll have no unwanted suitors calling I’ll have you know.” Then he laughed and embraced his old friend, who came into the hall smelling of the April evening and quite pink in the cheeks with the excitement of it all.

They had known one another forever, or at least that was how it seemed to the Apothecary. Starting as neighbours, both the boys’ mothers dying young, they had been thrown together and had become the firmest of companions from then on. The same age, they had both attended the Reverend Mr. Johnson’s school for twenty pupils, situated in a house on the edge of Kensington village. But after that they had gone their different ways, John as an apprentice to Richard Purefoy, Apothecary of Evans Row; Samuel Swann to Edward Hall, Goldsmith of West Cheap. Yet they had remained as close as was possible and now John clasped his friend to him with a great deal of emotion.

“Champagne,” said Sir Gabriel, appearing with a bottle and with Mrs. Alleyn who was smiling profoundly.

“I’ll go upstairs and check on my ladies,” said John. “Then, when they are prepared, you will be allowed to visit them.”

“Splendid,” answered Samuel, and followed Sir Gabriel into the library, his arms still bulging with parcels, his face a moon of delight.

“Dear Samuel,” said Emilia, drawing him down and kissing him.

She was sitting up in bed, having prepared her face and hair and looking as angelic as the day that John had first set eyes on her. The wooden horse was now almost totally visible through its wrapping paper but both she and the Apothecary expressed great surprise and pleasure when it was fully revealed and put on the floor at the end of Rose’s cradle. Then they both wept a little at the sight of their large friend leaning over and extending a finger, which the infant promptly grabbed and put in its mouth.

“She’s beautiful,” Samuel said earnestly.

Neither Emilia nor John made jocular remarks about his turn next, knowing that the Goldsmith’s most recent romance with Christabel Witherspoon, sister of the famous artist Julius, had come to an end. It seemed that for such a totally loveable fellow, he was totally unlucky in love. And John wondered if that were part of the trouble. If Samuel were too nice and too kind, and that the majority of young women wanted something a little more challenging. But he kept his own counsel and decided to wait until such time as they were private together before he expressed an opinion - and only then if he were asked for it.

Rose began to make hungry noises and Dorcas appeared. At that the two men departed and made their way downstairs, only to find that Sir Gabriel and Maud were celebrating further before dinner.

“Do stay and dine, my boy,” John’s father invited.

“I’d love to, Sir.”

“Then why don’t you two go into the parlour. John is involved in one of Sir John Fielding’s affairs at the moment. I’m sure he would love to discuss it with you.”

The Apothecary was feeling too benign to argue but inwardly he groaned a little. Samuel adored taking part in enquiries that stemmed from the Public Office, considering himself rather good at interviewing witnesses - a fact which couldn’t be further from the truth - and John was utterly sure that with an investigation as involved as this, Samuel would not hesitate to offer his services.

Sure enough, the Goldsmith said, “Consider me in,” when John had finished recounting the whole convoluted tale.

“Of course we’ll have to get Sir John’s permission first.”

“Of course. But he’s always welcomed me in the past. I think he has quite come to rely on me.”

John controlled his features admirably, more than aware that the Magistrate was too kind to rebuff Samuel out of hand but sometimes found it hard to give him a job that was virtually foolproof.