Death in the Valley of Shadows (25 page)

Louis spread his hands. “Isn’t it just? The wiping out of innocents. And where will it all end? Is there to be another murder - or two, perhaps - for this reprehensible crime?”

John shook his head. “I don’t know.” Then he braced himself. “No, of course there won’t, Sir John is quite prepared to make an arrest as soon as the Bussells return. With them locked away there won’t be any more trouble.”

But he wished he felt the jaunty note that he had in his voice. However, their conversation was at an end. Emilia and Serafina had rejoined them and they must make light of it, for the moment anyway.

They had finished everything and were sitting back replete, Emilia just showing the first signs of being up late and starting to yawn. It was then that Serafina, unaware that the conversation had already touched on the matter, asked a difficult question.

“Well, has Sir John found the fellow responsible?”

“No,” said John, “not yet.”

“What?” said Serafina.

“I meant what I said. He imagines the Bussells to be responsible for some of the deaths. A person as yet unknown, for the others.”

“But this is preposterous. There is a criminal mind out there which, even now, is glorying in what it has done.”

“But how can you know that?” interrupted Louis.

“Because of the facts.”

They were off, determinedly going at one another in an attempt to prove the other wrong. Very covertly, John and Emilia exchanged a secret look, then grinned. Meanwhile, the other two continued to argue boisterously, each determined to see the other go down. Eventually, though, a certain air of resignation crept into Louis’s tone and he suddenly said, “You are quite right, of course.”

Serafina stopped with her mouth open. “What’s that you say?”

“I said, ‘you’re quite right’.”

She rapidly rethought her reply and came up with, “Strangely, I was just going to say the same to you.”

“Were you now?”

There was definitely a catch in his voice which indicated a laugh and, after looking at one another once again, Emilia and John tittered. The stage was set for Serafina and awaited her grand exit, stage right. She made it.

“Excuse me Emilia, gentlemen. I must go and see to my affairs. If you will forgive me for a few moments.”

And with that she swept out. There was a rush of good humour in her absence and John said, “Ah well, we live and learn.” To which both Emilia and Louis said simultaneously, “What do you mean by that?”

But the tension had been broken and they all fell to laughing and joking until one of the servants entered and said something beneath his breath to the host.

“What did you say?”

“I said, Sir, that the old dame is in the kitchen. The one who professes to read the lines on your hand. You said next time she called that we were to show her in.”

Louis looked puzzled, then his brow cleared. “Oh yes, I remember her. What a good thing she happened to come tonight. Please send her to us.”

She was very small, admittedly, but this could have been caused by the fact that she was bent practically in half, some accident of long ago or, perhaps, some cramping complaint of the spine. Whichever, she shambled over to the table, and started to thank John but, when corrected, turned to Louis with great dignity. A hood hid most of her face and she kept a hand constantly at the ready, its purpose to pull the lining of the embracing garment should it slip back in any way. Her voice came from far away but seemed to have a strange French accent.

She bent over Louis and started to mutter in his ear but he turned her away towards Emilia.

“Hello, young lady,” she murmured. “Cross my palm with silver.”

John leaned a little closer, determined to catch what was being said, though it wasn’t always easy.

Emilia rubbed a silver coin, the largest she had, over the grimy hand. The woman spoke.

“You’re afraid of summat… there’s a child, but she will survive you…”

“Of course she will. But surely there are going to be more?”

“I don’t know… look for the woman with two faces… look for when the sun is red… look for…”

Her voice dropped to its lowest ebb and he strained, then gave up. Then, when he was turning away, losing interest, just about to suggest another drink to Louis, there came a tugging at his sleeve.

“Hello, young Sir. Cross my palm with silver, then.”

He could never afterwards tell why he was so attracted, what it was about her that seemed to weave this compulsive spell, why he needed to have his fortune read by her so urgently. But whatever it was, the charm had an almost inescapable symmetry. He bent low over the figure.

“Go on then, what do you see?”

“I see sadness and I see joy. But first there is gladness. Gladness that your case is solved, happiness that nobody has to go to Tyburn. But then comes sadness. Sadness that you are again alone. Sadness for the young one. Sadness that she has no mother.”

“I don’t want to hear any more of this,” John whispered, furious with her for all that she was implying. Yet he knew, deep in his heart, that he wanted to know, wanted more than anything else in the world.

The old woman turned away from him and suddenly it was over. She had slumped to one side as if exhausted and was asking permission of Louis to withdraw. And he, completely unaware of the effect she had had on her audience, was giving it. John shot a quick look at Emilia and saw that she had either ignored the woman or else been unable to hear her properly, for she was as bright and happy as ever and giving everyone, and that included her husband, a radiant smile.

The woman limped out, a bent mysterious figure, and after a few moments Serafina came back in. Normally she would have chided her guests, asked them if they had missed her when she had been away so long, but on this occasion she seemed strangely quiet. However, she did turn on Emilia a deep and brilliant stare which could have meant anything.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” asked John’s wife, suddenly nervous.

“My dear,” said Serafina, “am I? Forgive me. It is just that I am concerned for you and am absolutely determined that nothing shall spoil your fun. If that silly old woman…”

But Emilia was already exploding with laughter. “My dearest, I could scarce hear a word the old besom muttered. Something about a woman with two faces and a setting sun. I mean, has one ever heard such nonsense.”

And she gave a highly pitched laugh that John recognised at once as being utterly false.

He turned to her. “She didn’t really frighten you, did she?”

“No, of course not. The silly old thing scarce knew what she was saying. I won’t hear her name mentioned again and there’s an end to it.”

But later on that night, when John crawled into bed beside his wife and luxuriated in feeling the warmth of her flesh and the sheer delight of knowing that she was next to him, he mentioned it again.

“Do you know. I’ve realised who that old woman was?”

“Um?” said Emilia, right on the verge of sleep.

“It was Serafina of course. Just for one moment, when she thought I wasn’t looking, I caught a glimpse of her face.”

There was silence from beside him.

“It was Serafina herself,” chuckled John, and wondered if his lie would ever be discovered and, if so, how.

The day after that was a day of complete relaxation, when the sun shone and it was wonderful to be young and alive. But the day after that was grim, as if they knew from the very beginning that it was going to be momentous and dark. Drawing back the curtains, up before the housemaid had come into the room, John felt a momentary thrall of gloom.

“’Zounds, but it is depressing out there.”

“Whatever’s the matter?” said Emilia, giving a great yawn.

“It’s a day that befits a funeral. Leaden skies, pouring rain. servants wrapped in oilskins. I’d much rather get back into bed and forget the whole thing.”

“Why don’t you?” asked Emilia, holding open the sheets invitingly.

“Very well, put like that I see that I would be accused of growing old if I refuse.”

And he hastened in, closed his eyes, and attempted to resist all her efforts at keeping him awake, until at last she proved too much and he woke up properly and gave her several enormous kisses. They were still enjoying this tremendously when there came a knock on the door which started to open. Drawing apart, the pair of them feigned sleep once more.

It was a little girl whose job it was to light the fire and draw the curtains. John and Emilia remained very still until she had gone, when they burst into laughter. But after that he rose and crossed to the window again.

“It’s a day to lay a great-aunt to rest,” he said, then thought about what he had said and pulled a melancholy face.

Shortly afterwards Dorcas brought in a red-faced and protesting Rose, obviously annoyed at not getting her feed when she had first asked for it, and after that everything became quiet and peaceful as the little thing snuggled to her mother. During this time John dressed in sombre black, the only white thing about him his shirt. And so it was that a very colourless young man, clad in dark hues, descended to breakfast and found himself alone.

Picking up a day old newspaper and starting to read, John took little notice when the front door bell pealed loudly and somebody was admitted. He continued to study but a raised voice in the hall caught his attention.

“…dashed nuisance. I’m aware of that. But I believe an old friend of mine is staying here.”

A murmured reply.

“Rawlings, actually. John Rawlings.”

John put the paper down and rose to his feet just as the door opened. He caught the eye of the servant hovering there and gave a broad grin. “Yes, it’s all right,” he said. “It has to be Samuel Swann.”

“Very good, Sir. Shall I…?”

But there was no time for an answer. Samuel had seen him and bounded up enthusiastically, holding out his hand to shake and bowing simultaneously, an odd sight.

“My dear old friend, how very jolly. I travelled up last night, don’t you know. Stayed at The Onslow Arms. Thought I’d get a man with a trap here first thing.” He lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. “I knew you’d be around. Nick Raven told me.”

Another of Sir John’s little wheezes, John thought. Aloud he said, “Delighted to see you, old chap. I’ve no idea where our host and hostess are but do please join me for breakfast.”

“Well,” Samuel’s honest countenance beamed, most unsuitable for a funeral John couldn’t help but think, “I’ll try.”

In the event, despite numerous protests made about already having eaten, Samuel had a positively huge breakfast, unlike John who ate little, always settling for the side of discretion when it came to funerals. This done, they talked a while before their hostess bustled in, already full of apologies for the lateness of her arrival. She stopped short on seeing Samuel, then hurried forward to kiss him on both cheeks.

“My dearest friend, how lovely to see you. But what has kept you away so long? We have so often invited you to dine. But you must be starving, come let me fill your plate.”

This time good sense did prevail as Samuel declared robustly that he had already eaten enough for two people and that he could not manage one item more. And he would not be shifted despite numerous protests, so that in the end the Comtesse was forced to eat alone. However, she had little and was just suggesting that they should leave the table when the door flung open and Emilia, radiant as ever and only just a little plumper, stood there, arrayed from head to foot in deepest black, pretty as a picture.

Immediately, John felt the lunge of his heartstrings, which he knew had been caused by his being cast out of Emilia’s bed. Roll on the time when I can have her back, he thought, and was just letting his mind run off down a naughty avenue, when Irish Tom came for instructions and he was drawn back.

“I think, Sir, that we ought to be setting off soon,” the coachman announced. “It took us a long time last time, if you understand what I am saying. And I presume that today will be even worse. So, how many is it to be?”

“Just the three?”

“Well, we’ll all lump in somehow,” responded the Irishman cheerfully, and left the room with a ten minutes warning.

“You’ll not come?” said John to Serafina.

“I think I’ll be in the way. Let me keep the house warm for you.”

Samuel touched the side of his nose as if he had very important information to impart but dared not say a word. “Best,” was all Serafina could get out of him.

“Where’s Louis?” asked the Apothecary.

“Out riding. He always goes off early, whatever the weather.” She lowered her voice. “And before you get excited and wonder if I suspect anything the answer is quite definitely, no. I neither worry what he does or where he goes or who he sees. And in this way he is entirely faithful to me.”

And she gave a light laugh before kissing all three of them on the cheek and waving them farewell as they set off in the direction of the village of Stoke d’Abemon.

As it transpired, Irish Tom had left so much time that they arrived an hour early and went immediately into the village hostelry. Even before they stepped inside, John knew that he must be careful, that there was someone within whom he must avoid. Plucking his hat down well over his eyes and sending Emilia and Sam ahead, he sidled in and heard their voices in another bar. The brothers Bussell were there ahead of him.