Death in the West Wind (26 page)

“So you examined poor Richard, God help you.”

“Not only that. I actually found Juliana draped over the
Constantia
figurehead, beaten to death, the most terrible marks upon her body. And yesterday it was all brought back to me. My wife and I went to Sidmouth and while she amused herself on the beach collecting shells, I examined the shift that Juliana was wearing when she was killed.”

“Why?”

“Because a small piece of white material was found on the figurehead and I wanted to see if it had come from the victim’s own clothing.”

“And had it?”

“No, Sir, it had not. It was altogether denser.”

Dr. Shaw looked intrigued. “How fascinating this study of murder must be. How you must enjoy following all the paths.”

“Only if they lead to the right destination. Frankly, Sir, this one appears to be going straight into a maze.”

“Well, I think you can safely rule out Juliana’s father and brother. Like you, I cannot believe they would rape their own flesh and blood.” He paused, then said, “It sounds more like the work of the Society of Angels to me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“They’re not beyond a little rape. They stand women on their heads and indulge themselves.”

“So I’ve heard. But why should the Angels pick on Juliana?”

“She could merely have been walking the streets of Exeter for it to happen.”

John was silent, then said, “I saw the Angels close to the other day.”

And he explained how they had tried to snatch Coralie Clive from the theatre and might well have done so had it not been for the intervention of Gerald Fitz and his brilliant swordplay.

“So they’re growing more daring. They used to save their activities for late at night.”

“Perhaps the lure of Coralie drew them out.”

“Who knows.” The doctor was silent fora while., finally saying, “I wonder if I’m right about the Angels.”

“You may well be.”

“But how in the Devil’s name will you ever find out?”

“By asking someone whose sworn purpose it is to hunt the Society down,” John answered, and refused to be drawn any further.

*
 
*
 
*

He knew he had to see Elizabeth di Lorenzi because she might well hold the key to the whole mystery, but how and where were at the moment questions that he found himself unable to answer. The logical thing would be to visit her tomorrow when he would be in Exeter to play cards with Gerald Fitz and his friends. Yet John had a feeling that this might well turn into a very late session and to call on a lady at some ungodly hour of the night was hardly courteous to say the least. If he had had freedom of choice he would have gone to Wildtor Grange in the daylight and sought her in her hideaway, but to abandon poor Emilia by both day and evening would have been the height of callous behaviour. The compromise, of course, would be to take his wife with him — and yet the Apothecary hesitated. For some reason that he could not, or would not, put into words, he had no wish for the two women to meet.

Throughout the rest of that dismal wake John had thought about all the doctor had to say and his ideas, coupled with his own belief that Jan and Richard would never have raped Juliana, nor allowed anyone else to do so, had made him positive that they could be crossed off Joe Jago’s list. But this still left Tobias Wills and Thomas Northmore to be dealt with, though personally John was equally convinced that Tobias’s protestations of innocence were genuine enough.

Looking at the poor creature, now on the brandy and growing flushed, the Apothecary decided to have one more talk to him, and seeing Tobias head for the decanter, he swiftly joined him at the table.

“This has been a terrible day for you,” he said by way of opening.

Tobias sighed heavily. “I hope now that I can be free of her at last.”

“What do you mean?”

“I told you that she was like an obsession with me, has been ever since I reached puberty. I can only pray for the salvation of my soul that she won’t continue to haunt me.”

John was very blunt. “Just because Juliana is dead and buried, don’t make a saint of her, my friend.”

“I don’t understand.”

Tve seen it time and again. Quite hateful people are sanctified by the very act of dying, particularly by a spouse who never really got on with them when they were alive.”

“But I did get on with her.”

“Did you? Did you really? She betrayed you in every way possible, she was even pregnant by another man. If I were you, Tobias, I would let today’s ceremony draw the final curtain. Only in this way will you be free to live the rest of your life in peace.”

“You don’t think I killed her, do you?”

“No, I don’t.”

“It was that bastard Northmore.”

“I’m not so sure about that. Tell me, what do you know about the Society of Angels?”

“They are a bunch of stupid young fools who terrorise the defenceless of Exeter. Why?”

“Because someone mentioned them in connection with Juliana’s murder and the suggestion is not altogether a foolish one.”

“But she didn’t know them.”

“Do any of their victims?”

Tobias took a moment both to drink and consider, then said, “That’s true enough. But how are you going to discover the facts?”

“There’s a vigilante after them, someone who watches their moves and probably knows more about them than anyone else, including the constables. I’m going to ask that person.”

“Who is it? Would I know him?”

“I doubt it. But even if you did I have no intention of telling you. The vigilante’s identity is a secret.”

“It all sounds very mysterious.”

“It is.”

Emilia came over and John stopped speaking, rather abruptly. She smiled up at him.

“My dear, I would like to go back to the inn and dine. I can think of nothing nicer than to spend an evening quietly in your company after a day such as this.”

Tobias bowed and moved away, and John flattered himself that there was a more determined air about the poor fellow than there had been of late.

The Apothecary kissed his wife’s hand. “Shall we go early to bed?”

She smiled her angelic smile. “What a delightful prospect.”

“And what would you like to do tomorrow?” The smile became just the slightest bit wistful. “No doubt, there will be some call on your time so it is pointless to make plans.” He looked at her very seriously. “Do you hate this honeymoon?”

“No, of course not. Yet I can’t say that I’ll be sorry to get back to London and start married life without all this excitement.”

“Do you long for dull domesticity?”

“I can’t say that a great deal of dullness would be unwelcome.”

“I promise you that we shall have the dullest life a couple could wish for.”

“Oh good,” said Emilia, not believing a word her new husband was saying.

*
 
*
 
*

The minute that the note was handed to him, John knew that it was going to ask him to do something, and so determined was he to give Emilia an enjoyable evening — and night — that he hid it in his coat pocket, resolving to open it in the morning and not before. As a result, they had a very good time, drinking too much wine and laughing at one another’s jokes, and going to bed and making love by candlelight. Therefore it wasn’t until he was halfway through his particularly hearty breakfast — John made it a golden rule always to eat well after a funeral — that he remembered the note and pulled it from his pocket. It was in a laboured, rather poor hand that he did not recognise, but when he opened it he realised why. It had been written by the farmer William Haycraft, presently acting as constable of Sidmouth. The Apothecary scanned the contents.

*
 
*
 
*

“Sir”, he read.
 

“With Respect I write You to Ask your Help. A Odd Occur Rance has happened. I Think there might Be a SirVivor from the Constantia. Gossip Has It that Widow Sarah Mullins has Rescued a Man from The Sea and Has taken him to Live with Her. He Speaks No English and Was found at the Time of the Sailor Who Died. Can You come and Sift Her as She Refuses to Answer to Me.

Ever Your Obedient and Humble Servant,
 

W. Haycraft.”

*
 
*
 
*

 
“Zounds,” John exclaimed loudly. “This could be the key to the whole thing.”

“What?” Emilia asked, looking over the rim of her cup.

“It seems that there might be a survivor from the Constantia. A man has been found alive.”

She put the cup down. “My darling, if this means another visit to Sidmouth, please excuse me. I have collected shells, I have walked on the beach, I have swum in the sea. Unless I am spending all my time with you there is little fun left in the place for me. So, if it is agreeable, I would prefer to take the carriage and go into Exeter with Tom to escort me. Lady Lovell has issued an invitation for me to call at any time and I really would prefer to do that.”

He took her hand across the table. “I feel that I have been a great disappointment to you.”

She withdrew her fingers. “I admit that I thought we would spend the days together on our honeymoon but that is clearly not to be. However, I am having a good time in a very different way to the one I imagined, so please don’t worry.”

“But I do worry.”

“Then drop the investigation. Joe Jago and the two Brave Fellows are more than capable of seeing it through, I feel certain of that.”

“You’re right of course. My duty is to you, not John Fielding.”

Emilia laughed, just a little wryly. “But how could I be the one to drag you away from your beloved hobby? Whatever you say, resentment would creep in, I know that perfectly well. John, if I succeeded in making you devote all your time to me, it would bea pyrrhic victory indeed.”

“But, sweetheart … “

“There’s no but about it. I am telling the truth. You are only upset because I would prefer to go off on my own rather than spend the day with you.”

“But you did that so recently.”

“Without telling you, yes I know, and I have apologised. But now I am stating the facts to your face. I want to go to Exeter and you want to go to Sidmouth and meet the sailor who survived. So let’s forget that we are meant to be on honeymoon and do what we both wish.”

It was undeniably sensible, it was utterly reasonable, and yet somehow the Apothecary felt that he was failing her. Yet Emilia was right. If he gave up now, he would hardly know how to contain himself. Juliana’s killers had to be found, and to stand by and watch Joe and Runners Ham and Raven work their way through the puzzle without him playing any part would be more than he could stand. John sighed deeply.

“Emilia, what can I say?”

“Nothing,” she replied robustly.

“You know I love you, don’t you?”

She gave him a tight little smile. “Oh yes, in your way I’m sure you do, John.”

14

I
t was exhilarating to ride at speed across the bare heathland, feeling the wild west wind whip his hair into a tangle of curls, for today John was hatless, his wig in its box ready for the evening, a sudden longing in him to get to the sea and let it soothe him with its magic. He was not happy as he rode, sad that he had saddened Emilia, determined to make it up to her once he had caught the killers. And this spurred him on to ride even faster, as if the sooner he got to Sidmouth, the sooner he met the man whom William believed might have survived that dreaded ship of death, the sooner he would be able to settle down to married life and give his wife all the happiness she deserved.

Because he had felt the compulsion on him to travel swiftly, he had refused the placid Hicks at the livery stable and instead hired a young grey mare with long legs to take him on his journeys that day. And, indeed, he had not been disappointed in her, for she moved like a greyhound and seemed as keen as he to get to the sea and listen to the song of the toppling waves. In fact when he turned inland towards William Haycraft’s farm she let out a whinny of annoyance and slowed her pace.

“Just be patient,” he said, as they proceeded down the track.

The constable was in the fields, stripped to the waist and sweating profusely despite the fact that the sun was far from at its warmest.

“Oh, you came, Sir,” he said, looking up at the sound of the horse’s hooves.

John dismounted. “Just as soon as I could. This sounds an amazing stroke of good fortune, William. Is the man really from the
Constantia
?”

“I don’t know, John, and that’s the truth of it. The story is this. Widow Mullins lives in one of those little cottages near the seashore neath the cliff and has remained there alone ever since her husband was drowned. He was one of the sailors who went to Newfoundland but never made the journey back. But that’s by the by. Apparently she was out walking one evening and found a drowned man in the surf. Or at least, so she thought. But when she pulled him out there were signs of life. To cut a long tale short, she dragged him to her cottage somehow or other and nursed him back to life. Now, he’s staying put and likes it. And she’s not complaining either! But the heart of it is, is he from the death ship? Cos if he is, Sir,then he might be able to tell us exactly what happened.”