Death on the Romney Marsh (8 page)

‘Damnation!' he swore.

‘Who was it?' asked Elizabeth, nervously coming up behind him.

‘I don't know. They've gone to earth;'

‘Could they have overheard what we were saying?'

‘It depends on how long they were there.'

She drew herself up and got a grip on her emotions. ‘Ought we to try and find the fellow?'

‘It could be a woman, you know. And the answer is no. By the time we've searched the grounds they could be halfway home. No, Mrs Rose, a far better idea is to return to your cottage and for me to look at that wine bottle of yours.'

‘Then follow me, Mr Rawlings,' she said with determination, and set off down the path.

The serving girl whom her employer suspected of gossiping at least was a good worker. A cheerful fire had been lit in the hearth and the smells of cooking pervaded Petronilla's Platt as John and his hostess walked through the front door. The Apothecary raised his brows in surprise and Elizabeth Rose, reading his look, laughed and said, ‘You are in the country now, Mr Rawlings. We dine at two o'clock here.'

She was, the Apothecary thought, at her best when challenged. The frightened creature who had whispered to him in the church had vanished with the advent of the intruder. Now something of the spirit of Mrs Jasper Harcross, the death of whose husband John had actually witnessed on the stage of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, was coming to the fore. Even her beautiful face, ravaged by time though it might be, seemed brighter and more animated. In fact John was delighted when Mrs Rose said, ‘I do hope you will dine with me, my dear friend. There is still much that I want to say to you. I feel that I have rudely monopolised the conversation talking about myself and have asked nothing of you and your dear father.'

‘I'd be delighted to accept,' he answered, ‘and we can discuss all my news then. But first of all, to business. If you bring the bottle in here and fetch two glasses as well, the girl's suspicions should not be aroused that I've come to examine it.'

‘I'll do better than that,' answered Elizabeth, taking his cloak and hat and motioning him to a chair by the fire. ‘I'll bring a bottle of claret in with the other. That way she'll guess nothing.'

Holding his hands out to the flames, John stared around him. Though modest in the extreme, Mrs Rose had for all that made Petronilla's Platt cosy. The parlour was whitewashed and beamed and the oak furniture gleamed with polishing. Rag rugs were scattered on the floor and in the cupboard which stood against one wall, the Apothecary could see tea cups and saucers of delicate china. Of the furnishings he could remember from when Elizabeth Harcross had lived in Kensington there was no sign. The poor woman had truly put the past behind her when she had journeyed to Italy.

Candles stood on the mantelpiece, a tinder and flint beside them, and when his hostess returned to the room, bearing a tray which she put down on a small table beneath the window, she lit them. Even though the sum was still shining outside, it gave the room a pleasing air, driving away any lingering shadows.

‘Here it is,' said Mrs Rose, and handed John a bottle of a dark red substance together with a corkscrew.

Taking it to the light, he examined the exterior carefully. A label had been tied to the bottle neck which read as follows: ‘Damson wine, made by Ourselves in the Year 1754. We Hope this little Gift will bring you Cheer.' Of the donor's identity there was absolutely no indication whatsoever.

‘The labels from the other two things,' said John, looking up, ‘did you keep them by any chance?'

‘The answer is both yes and no. I told you that the cake came in a very pretty basket …' He nodded. ‘Well, I kept that just as it was. But unfortunately the label on the fruit was destroyed.'

‘And what sort of container did that arrive in?'

‘It was on a plate, a plate that obviously I kept as I did not know to whom to return it.'

John grinned, and Elizabeth said, ‘Oh, you still do that!'

‘What?'

‘Smile crookedly. I remember that about you clearly. It is one of your most endearing characteristics.'

The Apothecary coloured a little. ‘It is just one of those odd things. Now, allow me to look at this wine of yours.'

John carefully drew the cork and sniffed the contents, holding the neck of the bottle close to his nose. ‘Nothing detectable there. Let me try it.'

‘Be careful.'

‘A few drops won't hurt.' So saying, he poured out a thimbleful and sipped it. ‘I can't taste anything untoward. If this is poison it's a very subtle one.'

He drained the glass, Mrs Rose watching every move anxiously.

‘Nor is there any aftertaste in the mouth. I wonder what it can be.' He poured himself some more and sipped again. ‘No burning sensation. In fact it is very pleasant to take. How very odd.'

‘You can discern nothing?'

‘Well, it's not one of the wolf's banes, that's for sure.'

‘How do you know?'

‘My tongue and lips would be swollen by now. It could be meadow saffron, I suppose. Though I somehow doubt it.'

‘What does that do?'

‘Properly compounded it is a good remedy for gout, but it can kill you by choking if given incorrectly. Tell me, did you get any sensation of stifling when you were taken ill?'

Mrs Rose shook her head. ‘No.'

John frowned deeply, his mobile eyebrows curving upwards. ‘There's obviously going to be no easy solution to this. I shall need to take it to my compounding room and try a few experiments.' He poured out a little more, which he slowly drank.

‘Oh, do have a care!' Elizabeth repeated uneasily.

‘Don't worry. The moment I feel discomfort I will stop. If I get into dire straits, my bag of potions is at The Salutation. We can always send the girl for it.'

‘Well, if you feel sure.' She sat down and passed John the bottle of claret. ‘If you would be so kind as to open this, I'll join you in a glass.'

‘Certainly.'

They sat on either side of the fire, the Apothecary studiously sampling the damson wine, Mrs Rose erring on the side of caution and drinking the contents of the other bottle. And slowly the warm and pleasant atmosphere had its soothing effect. If only temporarily, all thoughts of poison and the horrors of the past were forgotten and they chatted and laughed, the hostess's enamelled cheeks becoming quite rosy at the pleasure of the Apothecary's company.

‘Tell me,' said John, his thoughts returning to Henrietta Tireman, as they had done several times that morning already, ‘about your neighbours. Describe them to me.'

‘Well, there's the Squire, Sir Ambrose Ffloote, an extremely noisy baronet who lives in Paradise House.'

‘What an exotic name!'

‘Isn't it. Not really suitable for him. Then there's Captain Nathaniel Pegram, who lives in Grey Friars.'

‘Another interesting title.'

‘It's a manor house now but was once a monastery which after the dissolution was sold into private hands. The ruins of the chancel of the chapel stand nearby and are most interesting to visit.'

‘And what is he like? Captain Pegram?'

‘Shy and retiring. He hardly socialises at all. His wife died many years ago and they say he never recovered from her loss. Apparently, his greatest pleasure is to spend all day in his library.' Mrs Rose paused, then added, ‘He's quite a handsome man in his way.'

The Apothecary nodded. ‘Obviously something of a recluse. By the way, I met Sir Ambrose on my journey here.' Almost without thinking, he poured himself a little more of the damson wine. ‘I can't say I took to him enormously. He's married, I believe.'

‘To poor long-suffering little Faith, who is greatly plagued with the headache. Can anyone be surprised? Needless to say, they are childless and pour out all their affection on an aged and decrepit dog which they refer to as The Pup.' Elizabeth Rose threw back her head and laughed, and John joined in uproariously, his suspicion that the wine, far from being poisoned, was of the most potent variety gaining ground with every moment.

‘And what of the others? Rector Tireman for example?'

‘You've heard of him?' Mrs Rose looked faintly astonished. ‘Well, he has two beautiful daughters, one of whom has achieved the triumph of all time. The younger, the fair Rosalind, has managed to get herself betrothed to the Marquis of Rye. There is to be a great wedding in the spring. All of Sussex and most of Kent are talking about it.'

‘How did she do that?' asked John, interested.

‘I believe she went to his house to act as governess to his young sister. Of course, no sooner did he lay eyes on her than he was at her feet as, indeed, are most members of the male sex.'

‘Her sister, Henrietta, was also on the coach with me,' the Apothecary remarked. ‘I thought her very pretty.'

‘She is, of course, but she pales in comparison with the other. It must be a great misfortune for her constantly to be likened to her sibling.'

‘Does the rector have a wife?'

‘Yes, most certainly. A
femme formidable
. A big, dominant woman who stands no nonsense. How she gave birth to those two lovely girls I will never know.'

‘Why? Is she plain?'

‘She is what is called handsome, if you understand me.'

‘Yes, I think I do.'

There was silence while both of them stared into the fire. Then John said, ‘Is there anyone else, Mrs Rose? Anyone whose circle you touch?'

She looked at him, suddenly very straight-faced. ‘Why? Are you thinking that from amongst them must come the person who is trying to kill me?'

John nodded. ‘Yes, I'm afraid I am.'

She shuddered. ‘But what connection could any of them have with the past?'

‘As you said yourself, it could be a random thing. The merest coincidence that one of them knew Jasper or …'

‘There's no need to say it. Very well, I'll conclude the list. There is Dr Hayman, who attended me when I was ill. He is new to Winchelsea, his predecessor, old Dr Trumble, having fallen off a wagon and broken his neck while under the influence. I'm afraid I know little about him, except that he seems very good at what he does. There is also an apothecary, a Mr Gironde. He makes up various potions for me but I hardly know him socially. His wife asked me to call on her once but I found her inquisitive and intrusive and did not go again. Of course, several other well-to-do people live here but they are merely nodding acquaintances whom I glimpse on Sunday mornings in church.'

‘So if I am right and the poisoner is somebody you know, is it your belief that your enemy must be one of the people you've just described?'

Elizabeth's beautiful eyes filled with tears. ‘Loath though I am to say it, the answer has to be yes.'

The Apothecary shook his head. ‘It is all very strange.' He gave a sudden grin. ‘Everything seems shrouded in mystery except for one thing.'

‘And what is that?'

‘Whoever left this bottle of wine for you had your best interests at heart.'

‘What are you saying?'

‘I'd stake my reputation that there is not a drop of poison in it. I've been drinking it consistently for the last hour and can feel nothing except the onset of extreme joviality. In short, it is one of the best home brews I ever tasted and I would very much like to find out who made it so that I can ask them for more.'

Elizabeth gave him a horrified glance which slowly but surely began to melt as the Apothecary smiled at her. Eventually she smiled too.

‘Mr Rawlings, what a risk you took in drinking that. But what you have to say is a great relief to me. It is nice to know that at least one of my neighbours wishes me no ill.'

John stood up and offered her his arm as the maid called from the kitchen that dinner was ready.

‘My dear Madam, take my word. If there is any who does, I will seek him out.'

And with that assurance he led Elizabeth Rose, once Harcross, in to dine.

It was evening by the time the Apothecary left Petronilla's Platt and made his way back to The Salutation, a snatch of song on his lips, his gait slightly nautical. His inspection of the labels attached to the anonymous gifts received by Mrs Rose had proved fruitless. Both had been written in different hands. None the less, John had slipped them into his pocket for further investigation in the clear light of day. That done, he had lingered over the port, which a laughing Mrs Rose had seemed only too happy to pour out, begging him to stay for the entire evening. John had thought then what a sad and lonely life she led and what a tragedy that so great a celebrity as Elizabeth had once been should be reduced to such solitary circumstances.

‘Next time you come to London,' he had said impulsively, ‘you must call on my father. I know he would be delighted to see you.'

Mrs Rose had smiled gently. ‘Dear Sir Gabriel. It would be so good to renew my acquaintance with him. But alas I rarely travel to town. My last foray was simply to try and find you, Mr Rawlings. The place holds too many memories for me to be comfortable there.'

‘You really must try to shed the past, Mrs Rose. What is done is done. Cast it off as a snake does its skin.'

‘Easier said than accomplished, my fine young friend.'

Looking at her face, the Apothecary had decided to let the matter drop. It was perfectly clear that the former actress was not yet ready, if indeed she ever would be, to forget all the terrible things that had gone before. Considering it to be a waste of breath even to try and persuade her, John Rawlings had risen from the table, thanked Elizabeth profusely, kissed her hand and departed.

The evening had turned cold and John was glad to walk through the front door of The Salutation and feel the warmth of the fire in the parlour. Hurrying in, he took a seat in front of the flames and promptly fell asleep, only to dream he was once more travelling by coach with Henrietta, and that the sinister scarecrow, standing so still and so lifelike beside the lonely church, was making the horses rear in their traces with fright. At this, Miss Tireman started to scream and it was to the sound of her terrified cries that the Apothecary woke up.