Death on the Romney Marsh (37 page)

‘And I, Sir, and I,' answered Dick Jarvis, and gave a salutation fit for a prince.

His hair had been cut short so that a fashionable white wig with rolled curls over the ears sat easily upon his head. Dick had also been shaved so that not a whisker dared be seen upon his handsome countenance. Dressed in a black and crimson suit fashioned in the very latest mode, the smuggler's bastard looked every inch a gentleman of quality and knew it.

Amused, the Apothecary said, ‘I always reckoned that your father had seen to it you received a good education.'

To which Dick surprisingly replied, ‘My mother came from good stock, Mr Rawlings. Sir Percy Bellingham of Goudhurst was her brother.'

‘Well, well. Kit Jarvis moved in exalted circles indeed.'

Dick smiled. ‘He lived and loved recklessly, and sowed his seed the same.' He became serious. ‘But let us not speak of him. For this evening I am Olivier de Vignolles, cousin of the Comte and his delightful Comtesse. Now remind me again, what is it I am to do?'

‘You are to act the part so convincingly that even your regular customers will merely think that you bear a startling resemblance to Dick the smuggler and nothing further.'

‘And then?'

‘I want you to identify the woman who removed Captain Pegram's visiting card from the Scarecrow's pocket. Then it will be up to me to decide whether she did so in order to protect herself or the Captain, or perhaps even a third party.'

Dick nodded. ‘But you want nothing made public at this stage?'

‘Nothing at all.' John lowered his voice to a whisper even though Serafina and Louis were deep in conversation with Elizabeth. ‘Have you heard about the Squire's disappearance?'

‘Oh, yes, even though you said nothing my wild boys knew all about it next day. Anyway, he's skipped. Guineas changed hands and Little Harry took him across to France.'

The Apothecary smiled cynically. ‘What price patriotism now?'

Dick grinned disarmingly. ‘I told you Little Harry had no scruples. This proves it.'

There was the sound of feet on the stairs and John raised a finger to his lips. ‘A great pleasure to meet you, Sir,' he said loudly, then turned to greet the new arrivals.

Mrs Finch and her girls, large in white satin, had come in a body, and were looking decidedly more cheerful, all of them, having set their eyes on the supposed Olivier. There was a great deal of saluting and bowing and low curtseys were dropped, from which Miss Sarah in particular had difficulty in rising. To add to the authenticity of his role, Dick had adopted a French accent, and helped her up with a great many Gallic exclamations. The musicians, three of them, that being the total sum John could afford to hire, struck up a merry air and the atmosphere became extremely festive.

Supported on either side by the Girondes, Faith Ffloote came into the saloon sniffing at a bottle of salts. Yet there was a liveliness in her eye that John had not seen before and which spoke volumes about her state of mind. He bowed and kissed her hand.

‘It was good of you to come, Lady Ffloote. Your husband's sudden departure must have been a terrible shock.'

‘He eloped, Mr Rawlings, let's not mince words. I always thought he had a fancy piece in Rye. And now I have been proved right.'

John nodded, having told no one other than Elizabeth – and Mr Fielding by letter – the true reason for Sir Ambrose's abrupt departure. In that way poor Faith could continue to hold up her head in society, for other than the Frenchman present that night, whoever he might have been, there had been not one witness to what had actually taken place.

‘If that is the case then you are better without him, Madam,' the Apothecary answered seriously, and Lady Ffloote bowed her head in agreement.

A roar of laughter came from below and Lucius Delahunty, hair tied back in a bow and looking immensely smart in emerald green, bounded into the room accompanied by Richard Hayman. The Irishman bowed to the assembled company, then saw Dick.

‘Why, Reverend …' he began, his tone startled.

John cut across him. ‘Lucius, may I present Olivier de Vignolles. He is the cousin of a very old friend of mine.'

The Irishman's flaming blue eyes looked into his and there was the momentary hint of a wink. ‘My dear Sir,' Lucius said promptly, ‘it really is an enormous pleasure.'

‘Likewise,' Dick answered with dignity.

The Apothecary turned away, then felt his heart beat faster at the sound of Mrs Tireman's booming voice as its owner mounted the stairs with her party. The very thought that Henrietta was about to come into the room was enough to excite and exhilarate him, and John knew that leaving her was going to be almost an impossibility.

With these latest arrivals the company was at full complement, only the puzzling Captain Pegram missing, and the Apothecary made a small speech of welcome in order that everyone could start dancing.

‘My Lord, ladies and gentlemen, do not stand on ceremony, I beg you. This assembly is by way of thanking you all for being so kind to me during my stay in Winchelsea. So please let us dance and take refreshment without further ado. Thank you.' At this the guests formed themselves into two sets, each one of an even number, Faith Ffloote wistfully sitting out as she had no partner, and the musicians struck up The Dumps.

‘So this is goodbye?' said Henrietta, her eyes suspiciously brilliant.

‘No, it isn't,' answered John, as he led her into the centre. ‘Whatever happens, whatever lies ahead, I'll come back for you.'

‘That sounds rather ominous.'

‘Does it? I'm sorry. It's just that I want you to know that though my time in Winchelsea may be up, my time with you is most definitely not. In other words I am on the brink of falling in love with you.'

‘Only on the brink?' she said, and laughed, all her old humour suddenly restored.

The dance progressed, and though one or two people shot Dick Jarvis a curious glance no one queried that the graceful young man with the French accent was anyone other than who he said he was.

The conjuror's illusion, thought John. As Mr Fielding had said, people will see what they think they see.

About halfway through the evening, just as most of the guests had taken a seat in order to have supper, Captain Pegram appeared, very pale but perfectly sober. He immediately sought out Mrs Rose and sat with her while they both took refreshments, making her laugh and look young and happy.

I wonder, thought John.

Dick, he noticed, was wandering round the room, meanwhile, chatting to every lady in turn, to each of them pitching the same yarn about owning and breeding horses, then asking their views on the equine species and whether they rode, and if so to what distance. Intrigued, John, in his role as host, went to join him.

‘No, I can't pretend I ride at all,' Mrs Finch was saying. ‘Of course I did as a gel but nowadays I prefer the comfort of a carriage. Now my daughters are fine horsewomen, every one of 'em. Sophie rides for miles, don't you, Sophie?'

‘Yes, Mama,' answered the hapless female.

Looking at the girth of the four young Finches, John could only imagine they must mount Shires, and pitied any other breed that would have to carry them any distance at all.

Good actor that he was, Dick was also smiling rather widely and the Apothecary guessed that he shared the same thought. ‘Charming,' the smuggler said, his accent very broad. ‘One day you must come and see my stables, dear ladies.'

‘Oh, yes,' they chorused, and Mrs Finch made a moue and hid behind her fan.

Mrs Tireman, immensely wigged this night, came to join the group and immediately addressed Dick in French. John's heart sank, not having anticipated anything like this, but either the smuggler's education had been first rate or he had picked up the language during his many years of trading with that country. Whatever the explanation, he answered her fluently, even cracking a joke which made her laugh.

‘Damme, but you do remind me of someone,' she said, still in her mother's tongue.

‘As you do me, Madam,' Dick countered. ‘I believe it must be that famous actress Peg Woffington.'

Mrs Tireman's eyes almost vanished into the depths of her smile. Girlishly, she hit his arm with her closed fan. ‘Oh, you flatterer, you.'

‘That is who I must remind you of,' Dick continued charmingly, ‘the Devil himself.'

The rector's wife laughed all the more.

‘Come, Olivier,' said John, ‘allow me to present you to the rest of the ladies.' He bowed to Mrs Tireman and Mrs Finch. ‘Mesdames, if you will excuse us.'

Taking Dick by the elbow he propelled him firmly to where Mrs Rose sat, now joined by Faith Ffloote, who had gained colour during the course of the evening and actually appeared to be enjoying herself.

‘Lady Ffloote, Mrs Rose, Captain Pegram, may I present to you the cousin of my friend Louis, Olivier de Vignolles.'

Mrs Rose held out her hand for a kiss and said, ‘We've already met but I remain charmed.' Lady Ffloote, after peering somewhat suspiciously, suddenly became kittenish and giggled as Dick paid her the same courtesy. Captain Pegram, probably the only person in Winchelsea who did not deal with the smugglers, accepted Dick at face value and gave him a somewhat military bow.

‘Olivier breeds hundreds of horses,' said John, elaborating.

‘I really must take up riding again,' Faith said with a sigh. ‘I used to ride like the wind when I was young but of recent years my health has not been all that it should be. My husband rode well, of course, but he's eloped. Gone off with a dolly-mop from Rye.'

To his credit, Dick's face did not move a muscle. ‘Really?' he answered. ‘Then more fool him.'

Lady Ffloote was clay in his hands. ‘What an amiable young person,' she commented to the room in general. ‘You really must call on me.'

‘Alas, I return to London tomorrow,' the smuggler answered with a sigh.

‘Oh, boo!' said Faith, looking the most human John had ever seen her.

‘And now,' the Apothecary put in, ‘I would like to introduce you to the Marquis of Rye, who has kindly graced my gathering with his presence.'

‘My Lord,' said Dick, bowing till his wig scraped the Marquis's shoe, ‘Olivier de Vignolles, at your service.'

Justin smiled indulgently and indicated his beautiful future bride, who adorned his arm charmingly. ‘Rosalind, my dear, this is Mr Rawlings' friend's cousin Olivier de Vignolles.'

‘To be in your presence is a gift,' Dick replied with a Gallic roll of his eyes.

She laughed and held out her hand. ‘And what do you do, Monsieur?'

‘I breed horses on my estates in Warwickshire,' he replied, his fingers waving to indicate enormous acreage. ‘Do you ride, at all?'

The Marquis answered for her. ‘There is only one finer horsewoman in the county and that is Rosalind's sister, Henrietta.'

‘Our mother is also very good,' his betrothed added. ‘We all of us take after our French ancestress who was, if legend is to be believed, the greatest equestrienne in Normandy.'

‘Do you ride out over the marshlands?' Dick asked.

‘Everyone does,' Justin answered. ‘Don't they, Mrs Gironde?'

‘I've had to learn to do so,' she said tentatively. ‘I often carry out my husband's deliveries for him, you see. And if he is using the carriage I have no alternative but to go on horseback when I visit the more remote houses and farms.'

‘My wife is a superb rider,' put in her husband, joining the group.

‘So it would seem that every lady here has ridden at some time or another,' Dick commented. ‘Excellent. All the better for my stud farms.'

‘You have more than one?' asked Rosalind.

‘Several,' Dick replied exuberantly, and spread his arms wide.

They had gone home, all of them. The musicians had been paid and had left, the chef and his assistants had cleared away the remains of the cold collation. Even Louis and Serafina, John's special guests, had made their way back to The Salutation, leaving only the Apothecary and Dick Jarvis to walk back through the silent streets towards Petronilla's Platt.

‘Was she there tonight?' John said. ‘The woman who searched the pockets of the Scarecrow?'

‘Yes,' the smuggler said solemnly.

‘And was it …?' He mentioned a name.

Dick looked at John in amazement. ‘How did you know?' Then he saw how white his friend had gone in the moonlight. ‘This hurts you, doesn't it?' he asked.

‘Very much.'

‘I am so sorry, but how did you know?'

‘There were various pointers along the way.'

‘All leading to her?'

John sighed very heavily. ‘Yes, all leading to her.'

The day of the Marquis of Rye's wedding dawned merry as a marriage bell. March may have come in like a lion but now it had given way to April, with soft breezes taking the place of cutting winds and the air full of the scent of daffodils and sweet spring flowers still in bud.

John, who had been back to London to consult with the Blind Beak, had returned with Joe Jago, now once again resident in The Salutation, and the promise of the Flying Runners, two Brave Fellows ready with a coach to go anywhere in the kingdom at fifteen minutes' notice, should the occasion demand it. Yet even he, heavy with the import of all that must be done, did not get up as early as Elizabeth Rose, formerly both Egleton and Harcross, who rose at daybreak and put on a new gown of ice blue velvet and a hat brimming with flowers, especially made for the occasion. Later, while John was still putting the final touches to his toilette, Captain Pegram came to fetch her in his carriage and escort her to St Thomas's in Winchelsea, where the wedding was to take place, telling her that she looked beautiful and making her smile more than she had done for a long time.

The marriage of the Marquis was a great occasion and the entire county of Sussex had turned out. Not just those gentry folk fortunate enough to be on the list of guests, but also all the people who had worked for Lord Rye or his father and who owed them their livelihood. They came from miles away, pouring into Winchelsea, either on foot or horseback, and waited outside the church in a mood of ever increasing jollity, watching for the great moment when the bride and groom should appear.