Death in the Setting Sun (17 page)

Chapter Thirteen

I
t was late by the time John Rawlings managed to slip away from the farmhouse, leaving Jacob and his mother snoozing before the fire. Drawing his watch out from a pocket he saw that it was already half-past seven, and he started to run through the silvered night. There was a hard frost, the stars glittering fiercely over his head, the fields covered with white. He spared a thought for the poor cattle, herded together for warmth, and hoped that they would all be alive in the morning. But his principal worry was that Elizabeth would already be by Bellow Bridge and shivering in the icy conditions.

But there was nobody there when he arrived. In fact the lady had obviously not been able to get out as planned. He called her name and walked round the bridge on both sides but there was no answering call and he was just about to head back for the farmhouse when he heard the sound of light footsteps. Imagining it to be the Marchesa he called out softly, “Elizabeth,” and heard the feet come to an abrupt halt. Instantly suspicious, John flattened himself behind a tree and only just in time. The moon came out from behind a small cloud and bathed the surroundings in its radiance. And he saw in the moonshine, wrapped ina long fur-trimmed cloak, the hood of which was up but her face showing quite clearly, Lady Georgiana Hope.

“Michael?” she said tentatively.

John made no answer, not certain what to do next.

But he only had a second to wait before he heard another set of running footsteps and a man came into view.

“Sweetheart,” the newcomer called, and swept the girl into his arms, kissing her ardently on the mouth.

‘Zounds, the Apothecary thought, it can’t be Michael O’Callaghan! But it was, quite definitely.

The lovers paused for breath and he heard the Irishman say, “Oh, darlin’, how I’ve missed you.”

“And I you,” she answered, and John could not help but smile at the contrast in their accents, Michael’s straight from the bogs of Ireland, hers frightfully upper-class English.

“Can we be together soon?” he asked. “You gave me your word, remember.”

“Of course I remember. But there is the matter of Conrad to be considered. I must plan my escape to the last detail.”

So that would explain her reluctance to be with the tall, dark, sinister man. But who was he? A father, husband perhaps? Her next words gave the answer.

“I hate him, I really do. If only I’d had the power to refuse him. But my father wanted it so much.”

“An impoverished peer can be very dangerous,” Michael answered as if he had known dozens.

“And when they have marriageable daughters …” Georgiana’s voice trailed away.

Michael’s delivery assumed the husky timbre that John thought very attractive. “You’re going to be short of money with me, my sweet. I’ll have nothing to offer you until I become a proper player. There might be a year or two of hardship.”

“Oh, my love, I won’t want for anything as long as I can be with you. You know that.”

How many times have girls thought likewise, the Apothecary considered cynically. Then he thought of the old saying, “When hardship comes through the window, love flies out the door”, and gave a silent bitter smile.

There was another silence while they exchanged more rapturous kisses. Then, eventually, she said, “Darling, I must go. Conrad is gaming with the Princess but I daren’t be absent much longer.”

“Oh, sweetheart. Leaving you is like a physical pain.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll walk back as far as the gates with you.”

“No, don’t. You might be seen.”

“Till tomorrow then?”

Georgiana wept a little. “I don’t know. It all depends on what Conrad is doing.”

“Blast Conrad to a million pieces. Anyway, I’m lodging in Brentford till the end of the week. Then I must return to London. But I’ll be here every night until Friday. Whether you come or not.”

He spun on his heel, clearly put out, and began to cross the bridge. As John could have predicted Georgiana ran to catch him up.

“Michael, darling, I love you. It’s just that I must humour Conrad until we get back to town and put our plan into action. Do you forgive me?”

The beautiful voice took on a thrilling edge. “There’s nothing to forgive, my angel. Just try to be here every night.”

“I will, oh I will,” she responded, and there were more kisses.

Eventually, though, they went their separate ways and John emerged from his hiding place. So he was not the only person keeping himself hidden round the Gunnersbury Park estate. The Irish actor, possibly Emilia’s murderer, though he would have had to be quick about it, was also playing a covert game. The Apothecary waited another five minutes in case Elizabeth had been delayed then decided it was too cold and hurried back to Bellow Farm.

Hester was waiting up for him, rather flushed in the cheeks.

“Dr. Rice has been. He would have called sooner but was delayed by an accident. Anyway he said that whoever bound up Hugh’s leg was a professional and we should think ourselves lucky to have him on the premises.”

“Good.” The Apothecary sat down on the chair opposite hers and held out his frozen hands to the blaze.

“Would you like a glass of mulled wine? It’s a bitter cold night for going on a walk.”

“One of my little foibles, I fear. Yes, I’d love one. Mrs. Bellow …”

“Yes?”

“Do you think the sheep and cattle will survive this frost? Oughtn’t they to be in sheds?”

“Yes, they ought. But who’s to do it? Jake has gone to bed.”

“I will muster them. You can be mulling the wine while I’m gone.”

And before she could argue he had stood up, placed a hat on his head, and gone out. Beyond the farm the night was like an ice-filled furnace, millions of stars scintillating over his head, the moon almost full, glittering in the sky like some enormous beacon, momentarily blotted out by a wisp of black lace clouds. John made his way to the field where the sheep and cows stood in a huddle, their stertorous breathing frosting in the freezing air. First he rounded up the sheep — two dozen at the most — and herded them into the big barn. Then he went back for the cows.

Back in the field he felt his eyes drawn to the spot where earlier that day he believed he had seen Emilia walk. Now there was nothing but plunging white, the trees like black skeletons outlined against the pallidity. What had been there? he wondered. Had it really been a phantom or was there some more earthly explanation? Still deliberating, the Apothecary rounded up the small milking herd and led them towards the barn.

The next few days were solid work and John found himself aching in every part of his body. Muscles never used before were being called into play and he was so tired at night that he fell into bed and slept without dreaming, ready to rise in the darkness and milk the cows.

He had not been back to the bridge since that night, nor had he been allowed the privilege of going to the big house with the produce. But today Jacob was going to market in Brentford so John, in company with the farmer’s boy, Ben, loaded the second cart — Jacob having taken the big one — and the Apothecary set off for the kitchens of Gunnersbury House.

As soon as he entered the gates he slowed his pace, hoping that he might see something, anything indeed. And today he was rewarded. For Princess Amelia, in company with her four ladies, namely Kemp, Featherstonehaugh, Theydon and Hampshire, were out taking the air. Today the Princess was walking with a cane and indeed looked pale. John hoped fervently that she would linger in the country another week before returning to Curzon Street.

Keeping his eyes fixed firmly on them he did not see the obstruction in his path and the first warning he had that anything was wrong was when he heard the wheel splinter. Cursing to himself he brought the pony to a stop and jumped down.

A large piece of masonry had fallen from the roof and landed in the drive, ready to catch the first person who rode over it. Furious, John took the pony by the reins and led it round to the kitchen. The usual lad appeared.

“Morning, Will.” This was the name John had adopted in order to be safe. “Nice to see you.”

“Thank you. Listen, when we’ve unloaded the produce can anyone help me mend my wheel? A damnable piece of masonry has fallen in the driveway and splintered two of the spokes.”

“Take it round to the stables. Someone will give you a hand there.”

“Right. By the way, have you seen anything of the new maid?”

The Apothecary put on a knowing look and slowly winked his eye. The kitchen lad appeared thrilled to be the recipient of such juicy gossip.

“Do you mean Lizzie? The new rum strum?”

“Aye, that’s the one. I tell you straight, I fancy her.”

“You’re not alone there. Though how she does it with that great scar on her I’ll never know.”

“Does what?” asked John, genuinely interested.

“Has all the coves panting after her.”

“Oh.” The Apothecary felt very slightly annoyed. “I see.”

“Anyway, she’ll come down to the kitchens soon. She’s lit the fires and emptied the slops so it’s time she had a break. So meanwhile let’s move your produce.” John was bent double beneath a churn when he spied Elizabeth’s feet coming towards him. With a gasp he straightened up, placing his burden on the floor beside him.

“Morning, Master Will,” she said, giving him a smile that could only be described as impudent.

“Morning, Mistress Lizzie,” he answered, scowling. Elizabeth lowered her voice. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to the bridge the other night. I was here gathering information. I did go last night but you weren’t there.”

John moved into the doorway, indicating that she should do likewise. Looking round to check that nobody could overhear them, he said, “Can you tell me what it is you’ve observed?”

“Briefly this. Lady Theydon is always murmuring in corners with her companion, Miss Priscilla.”

“What do they murmur?”

“That I don’t know. But something about their manner makes me suspicious.”

“Of what?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Again, I don’t know. All I’m aware of is that they seem unusually close.”

“What else?” John asked.

“There’s a certain footman here — you may have remarked him — he has a swarthy pock-marked skin …”

“I know who you mean. He arrested me after Emilia’s murder.”

“Did he by God! Well, his name is Benedict and I swear that he is the paid lackey of someone important.”

“Meaning?”

“That he is everywhere at the same time as I am; listening at doors, looking around in chambers when their owners are elsewhere. In short, he does everything that I am trying to do for you.”

Suddenly aware that they were being observed, John took one of Elizabeth’s hands in his and was shocked by how rough it had become.

At exactly that moment she said, “Your hand is callused.”

“Quiet,” he murmured. “We’re under scrutiny from the cook. Look loving.”

She turned on him a delightful smile and moved a step nearer. “Tonight at the bridge,” she whispered.

“Till tonight, darling,” John answered loudly, and kissed her hand.

There was a collective “Ooh” from the kitchen staff during which Elizabeth strutted out with a sway to her hips.

“Looks like she’ll pray with knees upwards soon,” said somebody.

John ignored them and hefted in the other churn.

With the delivery of goods done there was no further excuse to hang round so he slowly made his way, together with pony and cart, to the stable block, recalling as he did so the night he had escaped. In fact he was miles away when it suddenly became clear from sounds behind him that he was being followed. Glancing over his shoulder John saw that Benedict was strolling along in his wake. Pulling his hat down, praying that the red hair would disguise him sufficiently, John continued on his path.

“Hey, fellow,” he heard the footman shout.

Turning slowly, John said, “Be you addressing me, good Sir?”

“Yes, I am.”

“What be you wanting?”

“I wondered why you were going to the stables. What business do you have there?”

“Well, Sir, if you’ll bend down you’ll see that two spokes of my wheel be broke. It was suggested to me that someone in the stables might be able to help.”

Benedict flashed his large and powerful eyes in the wheel’s direction. “I think you’d be better off going to the smithy,” he answered.

John briefly removed his hat, scratched his bright red curls till they stood on end, replaced the garment, then said, “I don’t know that I’d get that far, Sir, without some temporary repair.”

Benedict was clearly irritated. “Oh very well, if you insist.” He fell into step beside John, something that the Apothecary found uncomfortable. “Are you new to the farm?” he asked. “I don’t seem to know your face.”

“Oh yes, Sir. I come to assist Mr. Bellow who has had a fall and broke his leg. He’s put me under Mr. Jacob, that’s what.”

All the time while this conversation had been going on John had kept his face towards the pony’s flank. Now, however, he turned and gave Benedict a full stare. There was a flutter, as if the footman thought he knew him. Then John saw it pass.