Death in the West Wind (29 page)

Gerald Fitz raised his quizzer and walked towards the new arrival, and John knew by the fop’s very gait that he desired her.

“Exquisite, Madam, truly exquisite. Now may I present the company to you?”

“Delighted,” she said, and flashed her eyes round the room. They fastened on John and he saw her brief look of surprise turn into something else, a small clouding, a tiny warning which he could not interpret. But at that moment it seemed as if all the beaux in Christendom were bowing before her and it was with impatience that the Apothecary waited his turn, wondering what it was that she had been trying to signal to him. His opportunity came at last. “May I present a visitor from London, Ma’am? John Rawlings, a man of medicine I believe.”

“How d’ye do?” said Elizabeth grandly, and extended a haughty hand.

So that was it. They were to act as if they were perfect strangers. John gave quite the most elaborate bow in his repertoire, then raised her fingers to his lips.

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Ma’am. Your reputation as the most beautiful woman in Exeter precedes you.”

“Not as far as London, surely?”

“Even as far as London,” John replied solemnly, and gave another, smaller, bow.

He moved on, letting the next sycophant take his turn, wondering what she was doing here and why she should be friendly with Fitz, of all the repellant people. But his train of thought was broken by a tug at his elbow and John, looking round, saw a young man with the sleeve of his coat hanging loose, and that of his shirt barely disguising the fact that ke was bandaged from shoulder to wrist.

“Sir, may I present myself? Percival Court’s the name. I overheard Gerald say that you were a man of medicine.”

“Yes, I’m an apothecary.”

“Oh, are you? Then I wonder if I might seek your advice regarding my arm.”

Wishing that people wouldn’t do this to him at social gatherings, John gave a noble smile.

“Certainly. What seems to be the trouble with it?”

A very sheepish grin crept over Percival’s features. “Well, I’ve received a wound but have not dared consult a physician about it.”

“Why not, damme?”

“Because word would be bound to get back to my father. It’s from a sword.”

“I presume you’ve been duelling?”

“Precisely. And if he knew I swear my revered sire would disinherit me. He’s damned strait-laced about that kind of thing.”

“But surely you could go to a doctor who doesn’t know him, someone who would be utterly discreet?”

Percival sighed. “The trouble is everyone knows him — and me — for miles around. You see, he’s Lord Clyst.”

John looked blank, the name meaning nothing to him. “Nonetheless … “

Percival’s expression changed and he suddenly appeared desperate and haunted. “Please, Sir, I really do need help. The damn thing is terribly painful.”
 

“You realise I haven’t got my bag with me.”

“If you could just advise.”

“Then let us step somewhere where we can be private and I’ll take a look at it.”

The wound had become infected, that was the trouble. John stared in horror at a severe gash which should have been stitched immediately but was now inflamed and oozing with pus.

“This mustn’t be left a moment longer,” he said. “You are to get into your coach and go to a physician now.”

“But

“There are no buts, your life might well be at stake. Have you heard of blood poisoning? Sepsis? It is fatal. For God’s sake, Percy, who did this to you?”

“A friend.”

“Some friend indeed! What were you quarreling about? A woman?”

“In a way.”

He wasn’t going to be drawn further, that was obvious, but the fact remained that the silly creature had to be persuaded to go for immediate treatment.

“Don’t move!” said John with sudden authority. “There’s someone who should see this.”

Percival opened his mouth to object but the Apothecary gave him such a dark look that he closed it again without saying a word. Glaring at him, John left the room and went to seek out his host, explaining as briefly but as clearly as he could that one of the guests was in dire peril if he did not get to a doctor very quickly indeed.

Fitz raised his quizzer to stare. “And to which of my many foolish friends do you refer,

“To Percival Court.”

A truly extraordinary expression momentarily crossed Fitz’s features and John was immediately struck with the notion that his host knew far more about the incident than he was going to admit. “I see,” he said slowly.

“I must impress on you, Gerald — I may call you that, mayn’t I … ?”

Fitz nodded.

“That Percival could die if he isn’t treated swiftly. Sepsis will set in and will kill him, there’s no doubt about that.”

Fitz went pale. “I’ll speak to him at once.”

“I’ve left him in the small ante-chamber. Please do your best to persuade him.”

They went into the passage together but at the door, Fitz turned. “No offence, John, but I would rather speak to him privately. He’ll take more notice if no one else is present.”

“Of course,” the Apothecary answered, and turned to go as the door closed behind Gerald Fitz. However, he did not hurry about returning to the reception, instead lingering in the corridor for several minutes. The voices coming from within were muted but just for a moment Fitz’s became distinctly audible. “I order you to go — now,” he said.

Puzzling over the use of the word “order”, John returned to the party.

*
 
*
 
*

It seemed to be the night for wounded men, for the first to accost him as he went back into the throng was the dashing little Simon Paris, his arm still in its sling. Half smiling, John stared at the injured limb.

“What happened to that?”

Simon looked casual. “Fell over and hit myself on a boulder. Damn nuisance, can hardly get a glass to my lips.” He roared with laughter.

“I take it you’ve been to a doctor?”

“Of course. Someone had to extract … “ He stopped short.

“Extract what?” John asked politely.

“A piece of rock that splintered,” Simon answered patly, then laughed again.

The Apothecary changed the subject. “I saw you at the funeral the other day. A very sad affair that.”

Simon seemed relieved to talk about something else. “Yes, bad business. Rumour has it that Richard murdered his sister then shot himself. Is it true?”

“You seem convinced.”

“That’s because I’m certain that is not what happened.”

“You give the impression of knowing a great deal about it.”

“Well, I’m staying in Topsham at the same inn as the men who have come from Bow Street and, obviously, we chat about it.”

“Oh yes, I’d heard some big-wigs from London were investigating.” Simon Paris flashed his dark eyes. “Ridiculous, in my view. What could they possibly know about local affairs?”

“I’m sure they have their methods,” John answered enigmatically.

Simon looked bored and waved to someone across the room. “Excuse me, Sir. I’ve just seen an old acquaintance. If you’d forgive me.” He bowed and departed.

“So,” said a soft voice in the Apothecary’s ear, “you are a friend of Gerald Fitz’s. I am greatly surprised.”

“I am equally surprised to see you here,” he answered, smiling, and turned to see Elizabeth looking at him, very quizzically he thought. “And just for your information,” he added in the lowest tone possible, “Fitz is no friend of mine. I am here to snoop on him.”

“But I thought you were in Devon on honeymoon. Which reminds me, where is your bride?”

Without thinking, John took Elizabeth by the hand. “I am indeed on honeymoon and my bride is out with friends. But meanwhile I have become involved with the case of the girl found dead aboard ship. Have you heard about it?”

“Of course. Everyone has.”

“As an apothecary I was asked to examine her body. She had been raped and beaten to death. One of the suggestions put forward, though this is by no means proven fact, is that it was the work of the Society of Angels. Because of that I wanted to ask you if you had seen anything unusual round about the time of her death.”

“Which was when?”

“Roughly two weeks ago. She was last seen alive in Exeter on a Monday but exactly what day she died is not quite certain.”

Elizabeth put her fan to her face. “There are ears everywhere here. Come to Wildtor when this evening ends and we can discuss it. It would be far safer.”

“Very well.”

“One final question. What has Gerald Fitz got to do with all this?”

“He knew the girl, in fact he was probably her lover. Further, most of the young men in this set admit to having slept with her and, to crown all, she was about to marry Sir Bartholomew Digby-Duckworth on the pretext that she was carrying his child.”

Instead of looking askance, Elizabeth laughed. “I wonder what she did in her spare time.”

“Heaven knows.”

At that moment came a call for silence, then Gerald Fitz spoke. “Lady Elizabeth and gentlemen, the grand saloon is set for gambling. Let us to our pastime.” He made much of walking through the company to escort the Marchesa in, nodding his head to John and whispering, “He’s gone to see our family physician,” as he did so. The Apothecary bowed by way of acknowledgment and made his way into the gambling room.

The next hour was one of immense concentration as John, who was not a truly accomplished card player, fought his way through an intense game of whist during which Peter Digby-Duckworth, a gambler to the very bone, executed a stunning Bath coup and won a dashing rubber. It was a relief in view of all this to hear the supper interval called. With an ingratiating smile on his face the Apothecary fell into step with the winner.

“Well played, Sir, well played.”

“I get a fair amount of practice.”

“How I envy you that.”

Peter turned his ravishing lilac eyes on to his companion. “You’re the man from Topsham, ain’t you? The one who’s here on honeymoon?”

“I am indeed, Sir. Rawlings is the name, John Rawlings.”

“Peter Digby-Duckworth.”

“Digby-Duckworth!” John trilled. “Why, I met your delightful grandfather only t’other day.”

Peter looked at him coldly. “Really?”

“Yes, really. But he was much in gloom, alas. It seems that his betrothed was one and the same as that poor unfortunate girl whose funeral you attended recently.”

“That poor unfortunate girl was a whore, Sir, and my grandfather nothing more nor less than a besotted old fool.”

“Oh come now.”

“Come now nothing,” answered Peter, tossing his golden queue, his tongue obviously loosened by drink and success. “In case you have any illusions left, Juliana van Guylder had jigged the feather bed with practically every man in this room.”

“Including yourself?”

“Yes, even including me.”

“Was it your child she was carrying?”

Peter shrugged. “Who knows, it could have been anyone’s.”

“Your grandfather’s perhaps?”

“No, that’s for sure. He might flatter himself but the poor old chap was utterly wrong in thinking so.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I lied just now. It’s mine.”

“You’re certain?”

“Pretty sure. She’d been Fitz’s for a while, but he tired of her when she started to talk about marriage. So, hearing of her splendid reputation as a lover, I took her on.”

“And it was during her liaison with you that she conceived?”

Peter’s eyes danced mischievously. “Yes, but that doesn’t prove a thing. Not with a girl like Juliana. However, in case it was mine, it was a splendid notion to palm it off on my grandfather, don’t you think?”

“I think you’re amoral, the whole damned bunch of you.”

“Fun though.”

“Not for your victims,” John answered, and walked away.

*
 
*
 
*

The supper was superb. Indeed, whatever else one could say or think about Fitz, he was a splendid host. Clearly, though, he was making some sort of play for Elizabeth, probably hoping to amuse himself with a much older woman, John thought. She, however, though charming and courteous, gave him not a whit of encouragement. Nor did she anybody else, contriving in the most clever manner to be attentive yet at the same time remain somewhat aloof. The Apothecary found himself lost in admiration of her stylish behaviour. Eventually, though, it was time to leave the repast and head back for the gaming saloon and it was then that he found himself walking beside her.

“Is your coachman here?” she asked quietly.

“Yes. Emilia, my wife, has been driven by somebody else.”

“Head for Wildtor as soon as we have finished here. I have remembered something that might be relevant to the girl’s murder.”

“Will you get there ahead of me?”