Death in the Setting Sun (19 page)

“My dear girl, you’ll freeze.” And the Apothecary took off his greatcoat and wrapped it round her.

She gave him a look of gratitude mixed with another emotion which he found it hard to interpret. But when he glanced again the underlying look had gone and he thought it must be his imagination.

“Elizabeth,” he said, drawing her beneath the little bridge so that they might talk privately. “How are you? Is the work proving too much for you?”

“I detest it,” she answered forthrightly, “but I’ll continue as long as I’m useful.”

“Apparently you have caused a stir amongst the men, that is according to the kitchen boy.”

“I need everyone as an ally if I am going to find things out,” she answered, a fraction sharply.

“Of course,” John said soothingly.

There was a silence, then he said, “Well, I personally am no further forward but at least we now have a friend at court, literally.”

“What do you mean?”

“Joe Jago is here.” And very quietly he told her of the development that today had brought.

“And what of Miss Fleming?” Elizabeth asked. “I saw you talking to her in the driveway.”

John hesitated momentarily, then said, “Alas, she recognised me, red hair or no.”

Elizabeth gave a slightly sardonic laugh. “Well, she knew you better than the others, did she not?”

The Apothecary felt strangely comforted by this remark. Indeed, the more he thought about it the more likely it seemed that this was why Priscilla had known him so readily.

“You’re quite right, of course. Miss Fleming had met me several times before.”

Elizabeth twisted round to look at him, her skirt slithering a little on the icy grass. “Did you not tell me that she used to come to your shop to fetch some of the Princess’s medicines?”

“Yes, she did.”

“Well, there you are then.” She gave him a very direct glance. “John, do you think I am helping you? Am I finding out any information at all?”

“Of course you are. It may seem as if nothing is happening but everything you discover adds up to form a picture.”

“But there is no picture,” Elizabeth said firmly. “You have no more idea of who killed Emilia than when you first came here.”

John was silent, considering this statement. But what the Marchesa said was true enough. He was no further forward. Indeed had it not been for the advent of Joe Jago he would have given the situation up as hopeless.

“You’re right,” he said, with a catch in his voice. “I have no idea who murdered my wife and quite honestly I don’t see how I am going to find out.”

“If only you could consult with Sir John Fielding.”

“That is out of the question. I should be arrested at once. But Elizabeth …”

“Yes?”

“You must act with Joe Jago on my behalf. Make an excuse to visit him daily, in secret if necessary. Then report back to me everything that he has to say.”

“You know I will.”

“Good girl.”

He took hold of her arms and just for a moment she was very close to him and they stood clasped together. Cruel memories of Emilia came, so cruel that he drew in breath audibly. Elizabeth stared at him without speaking then slowly withdrew from his grasp and started to walk back to Gunnersbury House. John, without speaking, fell into step beside her.

“You’re going the wrong way,” she whispered.

“No, I forgot to tell you that I am meeting Priscilla in The Temple at nine o’clock.”

“You’re going to be early.”

“I’ll use the time looking around.”

“Don’t get caught. Be careful.”

“I will.”

They parted at the gates, she going off to the left of the house, John slinking through the shrubbery and woodlands that lay to the right.

It was pitch dark, the moon obscured by passing clouds. The Apothecary, walking through the trees, felt a frisson of fear. Somewhere, lurking round this house and grounds, was a maniac killer handy with a knife. And pointless as Emilia’s murder had been, so this killer obviously struck at random. Unless, of course, he had been aiming for Priscilla all along.

John recalled an earlier conversation he had had with her. A conversation during which she had as good as told him that there were people determined to cause her death. Now he was determined to get at the truth. Make her elaborate on that theme and name them. Then he suddenly stopped short, struck to the heart by the sight before him.

The moon had just come out and was lighting a sheet of blue water that sparkled beneath her beams. In this strange half-light the landscape was transformed and he gazed at The Temple almost with longing, as perfect and beautiful a building as he had ever seen. Standing beside the Round Pond, it threw a deep shadow of mauve onto the artificial lake, which rippled deep and mysterious beneath its shade. Slowly, moving silently, John made his way towards the folly.

The building was rectangular, built on classical lines with four Doric columns topped by a white wooden pediment decorated with ox skulls and garlands. In the middle of these columns stood a front door, open.

“Priscilla,” John called in a whisper.

There was no reply.

Despite himself, he heard his breathing speed up and grow laboured. Desperately trying to keep calm, the Apothecary crept towards the door.

A pit of darkness lay within and John stood in the entrance motionless, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Then the moon, which had vanished again, re-emerged and threw a silvery beam inside.

A grinning faun playing a pipe leered at him and John, startled, took a step back. Then he saw orange trees, a model swan serene and calm, and realised that these were merely decorations, things which would look quite normal to the gaze in daylight. But of Priscilla Fleming there was no sign.

He called her name softly once more and then a hand wrapped itself round his ankle. Fighting like a lunatic to get free, the Apothecary looked down at his feet and there, lying utterly still, was the girl he had arranged to meet. It would appear that she was quite, quite dead.

Chapter Fifteen

T
he Apothecary froze, momentarily unable to grasp what he was looking at. Then the moon came out in full and he was able to see that Priscilla lay motionless on the floor, apparently devoid of life. Yet there was no visible sign of blood, nor, indeed, of a struggle. Released from his catalepsy, John squatted down, feeling for a pulse, and to his enormous relief found one. Fishing deep in the pocket of his greatcoat he retrieved his bottle of salts and held it beneath her nose. Priscilla gave a gulp and her eyelids flickered, then opened.

She stared at John blankly, then he saw fear come into her eyes. She moved as if to crawl away from him.

“Let me go, you blackguard,” she shouted.

“Priscilla, be calm. It’s John Rawlings. We arranged to meet here, do you remember?”

The moon went in at this moment and all he could see was a wriggling dark shape which suddenly grew still.

“Oh, John, is it really you?” she asked huskily. “I thought it was my attacker.”

“Yes, it’s me. But Priscilla, what happened?”

In the darkness he saw that she was trying to rise to her feet and went to help her, holding her under her arms and steadying her as she clambered up. A faint smell filled his nostrils, rather sickly and cloying.

“Oh, John, John,” she sobbed. “It was terrible. I was waiting here for you, standing alone in the darkness. Then a man came through the door. I thought it was you and rushed to meet you — him. Then he put his hands round my throat and squeezed hard until I lost consciousness. You must have disturbed him. For where is he now?”

“Nobody rushed past me. Oh God’s life, perhaps he’s still here.”

For answer Priscilla screamed loudly, a sound which made John jump out of his skin.

“I’ll have a look,” he said, motioning her to be quiet.

“I’ll come with you. I’d feel safer than left here on my own.”

Beside the front door John had noticed a spiral staircase. Now, treading carefully, he and Priscilla made their way to the attic above. Because of the darkness, probably because of being afraid, she clutched his hand in hers, holding it tightly.

“Who’s there?” he whispered, peering into the attic’s gloomy depths.

There was no reply and nothing moved in the blackness. Then the fitful moon came out once more and he could see that other than for one or two pieces of old furniture covered in white cloths, the attic was empty.

“What about the cellar?” he said.

“We’d best go and see,” Priscilla answered fearfully.

They crept back down the spiral which linked the three parts of the building, descending into the dankly dark basement. But yet again there was no one there. Whoever had attacked Priscilla had either made his escape before the Apothecary arrived at The Temple, or had crept out while they were searching the attic.

“He isn’t here,” said John, as they returned to the front door.

“Perhaps he thought I was dead and his task was done.”

“Probably. Anyway, let me have a look at your throat.”

They had left the folly and were standing outside by the magic blue of the Round Pond. The clouds which had been teasing the moon had finally scudded away and Priscilla was clearly visible in its brightness.

“Please do,” she answered, and loosened her cloak at the neck.

Maybe it was the uncertain light and maybe his eyes weren’t as sharp as they used to be but the Apothecary could only see scant bruising. It looked as if whoever had attacked her had been disturbed and had fled from the place before the Apothecary had even appeared. The girl, however, was still weakened by her tribulation and clung to John as they walked back to the house together.

“You’ve just saved my life,” she whispered.

“Hardly that,” he answered truthfully.

“No, but you did. Listen, I’ve got an idea as to where we could meet regularly.”

“Yes”

“In the grounds there are some ruins. Nobody ever goes there after dark. I’m sure it would be excellent for a rendezvous.”

“But Priscilla, I really want access to the house. But how the devil can I get in without being recognised? I truly need to see people, talk to them even. But the minute they set eyes on me they will know who I am.”

“I doubt it. The last time they saw you you were dressed very fine, talked well, wore a wig. Now you’ve got your own hair, dyed red, wear rough clothes and speak with a rural voice. They might think you were similar to the man they met once but I do not think any of them will connect the two.”

“Then can you smuggle me in?”

Priscilla leant close to him and again that overpowering smell filled the air. “Yes, why not? Come on, let’s start now. I’ll tell how I was attacked, and introduce you to Lady Theydon as a man who rushed in and saved me as he was passing by The Temple.”

“Doing what?”

“Heaven knows. Checking for poachers.”

“Poachers?”

“We could say you’re some sort of gardener. Will that fit the bill?”

“It will have to. Come on. Let’s do it.”

They had drawn near to the house while they spoke and now Priscilla entered through a door in the side of the building. This led into a small hall with a curving staircase directly ahead. Following her beckoning hand the Apothecary climbed this and found himself ona landing off which led several doors. Going to one, Priscilla knocked quietly.

“Come in,” said a plummy voice.

Following Miss Fleming, John stepped inside and stood, head bowed, waiting to see what would happen next.

“My dear,” continued the voice, obviously coming from someone resting supine, “you look distraught. What troubles you?”

“Oh, Lady Theydon, I have been attacked.”

“Attacked? How can this be? It wouldn’t happen in a truly great house I can tell you. What my husband would say, I tremble to think indeed. Where did it take place?”

“In The Temple.”

“No, you foolish child, I meant on what part of your anatomy.”

“My throat. The villain strangled me and I think I would have been dead were it not for being rescued by …” She hesitated. “Will, the gardener.”

There was a swishing sound as Lady Theydon sat up straight. “ ‘Zounds, child, let me see.”

John allowed himself a glance upwards and saw that Milady had thrust Priscilla into a chair and was busily examining her neck, her great mournful dark eyes rolling in her head as she did so.

“Oh my God, ’tis enough to drive one to an early grave. Tell me exactly what happened.”

“I thought I would take a turn round the gardens before I retired. I was walking round the Round Pond and sheltered momentarily in The Temple. The next thing I knew was that a man came through the door and throttled me. I lost consciousness and was revived by Will, who heard my cries and came to my aid.”

This last was a gross distortion of the truth but was as good a version of events as any.

“Heaven be praised.” Lady Theydon turned her gaze in his direction, raising her quizzer, which hung around her neck on a chain. “Step forward, my good man,” she said in a voice reserved for addressing the lower orders.