Death on the Romney Marsh (24 page)

‘I trust I find you completely recovered from your ordeal at the hands of the smugglers,' Dick said, sweeping a low bow.

‘Almost,' answered John, fingering the cut on his head.

Dick made a tutting sound. ‘One can't be too careful these days. There are so many lawless people about.' He moved his eyes in the direction of the church. ‘And talking of that, shall we sit inside for a while? Even in a remote spot like this, one is still within the range of a spyglass.'

John stared round the acres of deserted marshland. ‘Are you serious?'

‘Very,' answered the smuggler grimly, and taking the Apothecary's elbow resolutely propelled him through the door of the ancient church.

They sat one below the other in the three-tier pulpit, John on the higher level. ‘Now,' Dick said briskly, ‘I believe you wanted to speak to me.'

‘Yes, I most certainly do. I am quite sure that through your network you have heard that a skeleton was discovered here recently, disguised as a scarecrow, and that the remains were subsequently removed to London.'

‘Aye, I did hear.'

John looked over the side of the pulpit, his expression earnest. ‘Dick, those bones belonged to a French spymaster who was in Winchelsea late last summer, just before war was declared. I told you I was looking for two spies …'

‘Yes.'

‘Well, it is the consensus that one or both of them murdered the man, making them killers as well as traitors.'

Dick looked thoughtful. ‘I suppose he was not done away with on the orders of the Secret Office?'

John stared at him. ‘What do you mean?'

‘That a British agent might have come down to the Marsh and finished him off.'

‘I hadn't thought of that.'

‘It would be worth checking.'

‘You're quite right, it would. But whatever the case, it is my task to find those two spies, code-named the Frog and the Moth, and put an end to their villainous game. That was what I was doing when one of your henchmen crashed a blow to my head. I was watching for the signals that are regularly being flashed from the shore to a watching French vessel. You must have noticed them.'

‘I've seen the lights all right. They're coming from a spout lantern. We use them ourselves to alert the French luggers that we're ready.'

‘Do you know who's sending the messages?'

‘I fear not. Twice I've gone after the bastard and twice he's eluded me.'

‘It's a man, then?'

‘That I can't swear to. The figure is swathed in a black cloak big as a tent. It could be anyone in there. All I know is that he or she rides a powerful horse and can move like the wind when they have to.'

‘I see.' John looked even more earnest. ‘Dick, I have to go back to London tomorrow. Can you keep watch for the signals in my absence?'

‘I certainly can. I told you, Mr Rawlings, I am a patriot, as was my late father, may he rest in peace. When he first went to Mayfield, a small and somewhat self-important village in Sussex, in the year 1715, Kit Jarvis openly drank in the public inns to Jamie the Rover, the Old Pretender, who had landed in Scotland to try and regain his crown. His very smuggling was a protest against the tax system brought in by the Hanoverian kings.'

The Apothecary's face remained impassive but mentally he grinned.

‘Then he became one of the most famous men of his time – smuggler, Riding Officer, highwayman, Bailiff to the Sheriff – there was no end to his talents. And now I intend to emulate him. I will gladly help you in your search for these betrayers of national secrets.'

‘I am delighted to hear it. But tell me what you know of the Scarecrow, as we call the dead Frenchman.'

Dick asked one more question. ‘How did you discover he was French?'

‘He had coded orders stitched into the lining of his coat. Deciphered, they instructed him to contact the two Winchelsea spies, la Grenouille and le Papillon de Nuit, immediately.'

‘I see. Well, I first saw him go up about August time. I can't remember exactly when it was. I thought one of the church people must have put the Scarecrow there. It never occurred to me that it was a body.'

‘But didn't it strike you as odd that he had no crops to protect?'

‘Not for a while. Then, of course, I went to look.'

‘You examined him?' John exclaimed.

‘What was left of the poor bastard. The predators had taken most of him. They left his shoes though. Beautiful, they were. The softest leather amd the brightest buckles you ever saw. Fitted me like a glove.'

The Apothecary gazed at him in horror, thinking of the old saying about dead men's footwear. ‘And you didn't report your find to the constable?'

Dick pealed with laughter. ‘Oh, come now, Mr Rawlings. I would have thought to have heard more sense talked by you.'

John gave a rueful smile. ‘So you kept quiet and took the Frenchman's shoes. Then what?'

‘I kept a weather eye on him whenever I was round this way. Watched to see if he had any visitors, that sort of thing.'

‘And did he?'

‘Yes, late one night a woman came.'

‘A woman?'

‘Yes, she had her nerve too, for it was an eerie sight by moonlight.'

‘I know,' John answered with feeling.

‘Anyway, she tethered her horse at the church, then clambered over the ditch, went straight up to the poor devil and took something from his coat pocket. Then she turned on her heel and left as fast as she had come.'

‘Had you ever seen her before? Did you recognise who it was?'

For the first time during their conversation, Dick frowned and looked uneasy. ‘Yes and no.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘There was something about her I knew, but yet I couldn't call it to mind. The feeling is she was in the wrong place, if you understand me.'

‘Yes, I do.'

‘My only hope is that one day I'll see her again and that I'll know her for who she really is.'

‘Dick,' said John, remembering the way the skeleton had been stripped of all its possessions, ‘please be honest with me. Had you or one of your gang been through his pockets already? Was what the woman took something one of you had left behind?'

The smuggler gave a sheepish grin. ‘Aye, Little Harry robbed him, not being a man of scruples.'

‘So what didn't interest him?'

‘It was a visiting card, that's all. Something even he could make no use of.'

‘And whose was it? What did it say?'

‘Little Harry is no great reader, being a man of very limited education. But he swore to me that it bore the name of the great man himself.'

‘Do you mean the Marquis of Rye?'

‘No,' said Dick with a laugh, ‘I am referring to that gallant soldier and hater of smugglers, Captain Nathaniel Pegram.'

It would seem that Faith Ffloote had made a determined effort to surround herself with medical advisers, for not only were Dr Hensey and John invited to dine but Dr Richard Hayman had been thrown in for good measure. The female complement was to have been made up by Mrs Finch and her two elder daughters, Sophie and Sarah, who loomed enormous on one of Lady Ffloote's more delicate sofas. However, the eldest Miss Finch had spent the first ten minutes of conversation apologising profusely for the absence of her mother, who was, apparently, laid low with a gastric disorder.

‘Perhaps I should go to her,' said Dr Hayman, half rising from his chair.

‘No, no,' said Sophie, ‘please don't trouble yourself, Sir. Mama gave strict instructions that no one was to call. All she wants, so she says, is a little peace and quiet.'

‘There are some members of the female sex,' commented Dr Hensey to nobody in particular, ‘who consider it very indelicate to be seen with a stomach disorder.'

‘Mother is one of them,' Sophie answered, giving him a tentative smile. She nudged her sister who sat in sullen silence, looking exactly like a Floating Island, that over-sweet dessert made of cream, sack, bread and currant jelly, in a pale yellow hooped petticoat and red satin gown. ‘Isn't she, Sarah?' Sophie prompted.

Her sister nodded slowly but said nothing, her eyes fixed on the floor. John, feeling sorry for her, attempted to engage her in conversation.

‘Your mother was telling me that she was recently visited by that extraordinary man from the Secret Office. I believe she was able to help him.'

The girl reddened visibly. ‘I don't know,' she whispered.

He turned to Sophie. ‘Did you meet Mr Jago, Miss Finch?'

‘Yes. I thought him most intrusive. He kept asking questions about last summer and a Frenchman.'

Lady Ffloote chimed in. ‘I wouldn't speak to the fellow. I left that to Sir Ambrose. He gave him short shrift I can tell you.'

Knowing what he did, John persisted. ‘Your mother informed me that you were stopped in the street by the Frenchman concerned and asked the whereabouts of the Marquis of Rye.'

Sarah went from pink to scarlet and shifted uncomfortably in her place.

‘Yes,' said Sophie.

‘How fascinating. What did he look like?'

‘I can't remember,' the eldest Miss Finch continued, with an expression that suggested she remembered very well indeed.

Sarah spoke for the first time, raising her gaze from the floor to the Apothecary's knees. ‘Oh, you do, Sophie. It's naughty to tell fibs. You remarked how dashing and handsome he was. I particularly recall it.'

Sophie appeared to be about to burst with chagrin and Dr Hayman, observing, hastily attempted to calm things down.

‘It's strange how memory is different for all of us. I can't remember one week from the next, and told Jago as much.'

Miss Finch threw him a grateful glance but the situation was retrieved by the entrance of Sir Ambrose, who came into the room smelling of the outdoors, The Pup tottering at his heels.

Lady Ffloote adopted her doting expression. ‘Has zoo been for a walk, Boo-Boo?'

The dog farted noisily and collapsed in a corner.

‘I believe you're over-exercising him, Ambrose. Why, the poor boy has no strength left.'

‘Nonsense, m'dear,' answered her husband cheerily. ‘There's no such thing as too much walking for a canine. Does 'em good. Keeps 'em fit.' He glanced round the room with a jovial expression. ‘Good afternoon everyone. Sorry to keep you waiting. Unavoidably delayed, damme.' Sir Ambrose advanced on Dr Hensey. ‘Hensey, how very good to see you. Glad you could be here. I take it you're back in Hastings?'

The physician rose and bowed. ‘Yes, indeed. My patient grows ever more exacting. I envisage spending quite some time there before the matter is resolved.'

He was as neat and immaculate as ever, a tidy little man in every respect. Politely, he offered Lady Ffloote his assistance as she rose weakly from her chair.

‘Now that Ambrose is here, let us go in to dine. Dr Hayman, if you could escort Miss Sophie, and Mr Rawlings, Miss Sarah.'

The Floating Island wobbled to her feet, clinging to John's arm like a mariner to a rock.

‘The joys of youth,' remarked Sir Ambrose inconsequentially as they all progressed towards the dining room.

Much to John's delight, the table had been laid with a great deal of foliage; indeed there was such a thicket of ivy in front of him that he could scarcely see Drs Hayman, Hensey, and Sophie, sitting opposite, let alone communicate with them. This delivered Miss Sarah straight into his clutches and with an empty space to his left, where Mrs Finch would have sat, the Apothecary had virtual freedom to ask her as many questions as he wished.

He put on his most affable smile. ‘I'm so intrigued at the thought of a French spy in Winchelsea,' he said artlessly. ‘Do tell me what you can about him, Miss Finch. I've always been interested in adventurous things like that.'

She wriggled uncomfortably and kept her gaze on her plate, but at last she spoke. ‘What do you want to know?'

‘Everything. Was he really very handsome?'

‘Yes.'

‘In what way?'

‘He wore lovely clothes and had big twinkling dark eyes.' The girl suddenly looked up with an air of defiance. ‘It was Sophie who thought he was handsome but it was me he passed the note to.'

The Apothecary struggled hard not to drop his knife and fork. ‘Passed you a note! What did it say?'

‘To meet him that evening by the ruins.'

‘What ruins?'

‘The old abbey, near Grey Friars.'

‘Did you go?'

‘Yes, I told Mama I was attending church and slipped out of the house.'

‘And was the Frenchman there?'

‘Yes, he was.'

‘And what did he want?'

Sarah blushed and simpered. ‘To see me, of course. He asked if we could be sweethearts. When I said yes, he said it was essential that I introduced him to my mother and, through her, met the cream of Winchelsea society so that he could make a good impression.'

The Apothecary stared at her uncomprehendingly.

‘It was part of our pact, to do things for one another.'

‘And then?'

The girl's moon-like features took on a dreary expression. ‘I never saw him again. I went to our meeting place but he didn't come.' Her bottom lip trembled violently. ‘I was upset by that.'

‘I'm sure you were. Perhaps he had to go back to France suddenly.'

Sarah shook her head. ‘I think some harm befell him. That is why the man with the craggy face is asking all those questions.'

John looked sympathetic. ‘Perhaps you're right. Did you tell him about this?'

‘No, I didn't.'

‘So why choose me?'

‘Because I wanted you to know that men do like me. Sophie thinks they don't but I know differently.' She gave the Apothecary what he could only think of as an inviting glance. Terrified, he looked away.

‘I'm sure they do,' he said through a fixed smile.