Death in the Setting Sun (25 page)

Leaving the house by a back door John headed for the stable block, thinking that he would have to wake Joe Jago up. But there was a dim light in the building and much to his surprise he found the clerk dozing, sitting up by a bale of hay, his eyes closed but obviously conscious for he said, “Is that you, Mr. Rawlings?”

“It is. How did you know?”

“By the way you walk, Sir.” Joe opened one eye which gleamed at the Apothecary brightly.

Amused by his reaction, John sat down beside him. “I saw you go off with the mounted search party.”

“Yes, and by the time we’d got back you’d found him in the Grotto.”

“I want to talk to you about that.”

Joe opened his other eye and sat upright. “I rather imagined you might. Tell me, Sir, was it the same killer?”

“Without a doubt. He was knifed in the stomach then pushed into the pool to die. Now, I saw him go into the Grotto about eleven o’clock this morning. Is it possible that he was killed then and could have been there all day?”

“It’s very possible. Remember that the water in the basin is cold and that the Princess uses it far more in the summer than the winter. It is more than likely that the place was not visited at all during the day.”

“Then I think he went in to meet his murderer.”

Joe produced a pencil and paper from his pocket. “We must list everyone who was present both at Christmas and this morning. Now then, starting at the top, there’s Princess Amelia.”

“Oh surely not.”

“You say that, Sir, but who is to say that she is not a homicidal Hanoverian?”

John grinned. “Go on.”

“There’s Lady Georgiana Hope, the Countess of Hampshire, Lady Theydon, Lady Featherstonehaugh, Lady Kemp and Miss Fleming. Any men?”

“Michael O’Callaghan could have come over from the farm and lurked in the Grotto. He had motive enough.”

“What about Benedict?”

“Much as I dislike him,” John answered, “I don’t think so. He was serving me a drink when I saw Emilia through the window. Which reminds me; I found a piece of red material high up at the scene of her murder.”

“What do you mean, high up?”

“Snagged on a branch at standing height. As if someone had been waiting in the trees. You don’t think …” His voice died away as the full import of what he was saying struck him.

“That there were
two
people in red cloaks?” Joe asked slowly.

The Apothecary turned to stare at him. “Is it possible?”

“It certainly is, Sir. What easier way to disguise oneself than to dress in an identical way to the victim.” John looked sick. “Then the person I saw hurrying through the trees might not have been Emilia.”

“Who’s to say, Sir? Who’s to say? Now …” He rubbed his hands together. “Who else for the list?”

“I can’t think of anyone. Joe, you know that Michael O’Callaghan and Georgiana Hope were planning to run away together.”

“Yes, I do. Silly young fools. But it would certainly give both of them a motive.”

“Indeed it would. But why kill Priscilla that first time? Because that’s who the murderer thought he was getting.”

“Urn.” Joe stroked his chin.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing, Sir. Just um.”

“Well, tomorrow I’ve got to question all the ladies, somehow or other find out what they were doing at the appropriate time .” A thought struck John forcibly and he grabbed Joe’s arm. “But I forgot. The Runners are due here tomorrow. They’ll arrest me sure as fate.”

“No, Sir, I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean?”

Joe flushed a little. “Mr. Rawlings, I haven’t been entirely straight with you.”

The Apothecary turned on him a puzzled face. “I don’t understand.”

“I wrote to Sir John shortly after you arrived here and begged him to give you time to solve the murder. He agreed to three weeks before he made an arrest. You have one more week to go.”

John didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “You mean to say that my subterfuge has been for nothing?”

“Not for nothing, no, Sir. You have managed to worm your way back in to Gunnersbury House. You are on the point of unravelling the mystery …”

“Some hopes.”

“As I was saying, you are on the point of solving the entire thing. Another week is all you will need.”

“But the Princess intends to pack up tomorrow and go the next day.”

“Perhaps she can be persuaded to stay.”

“But how?”

“I think, Sir, that you had better leave that to me,” Joe answered, and touched his nose with his finger.

John’s earlier feelings of tiredness had now vanished. Leaving the stables, plunging into a freezing night, he felt more alert and awake than he had for an age. Deciding to take another look at the Grotto, hoping that a torch would have been left in there, he made his way through the darkness towards the folly.

Despite the bitter weather the night was alive with sounds. The grass rustled with small wildlife and distantly he could hear the sonorous note of an owl. But another noise overrode these natural sounds. There was the crunching of feet on the frosty lawn as somebody approached. For some strange reason John’s blood ran cold and he hurried for the protection of the folly where he hid in the deepest shadow, hardly daring to breathe. Silently, he watched the figure approach.

It was cloaked and it was difficult to tell at this distance whether it was male or female. Yet as it approached closer he could see that it was a woman who was drawing near to the place where he hid. Standing mute in the inky blackness, the Apothecary recognised the lugubrious features of Lady Theydon.

She paused at the entrance to the Grotto and looked stealthily around. She was only a foot away from John who could quite easily have stretched out his arm and touched her. However, he remained utterly still and quiet.

“Is there anybody there?” she asked nervously, her sticky voice tremulous.

The Apothecary did not move a muscle despite an overwhelming urge to cough.

She stared round a moment or two longer then decided that the coast was clear and entered the murder scene, from which a faint glow was still forthcoming. Dying to see what she was doing, John ventured forward a step, then another, until finally he was just able to peep within.

She was searching for something, that much was clear. Looking up and down the walls of the interior, then bending over the basin, peering frantically. But whatever it was Lady Theydon sought, her search was unsuccessful. For after a further look round she headed for the doorway.

The Apothecary drew back but not quite quickly enough. She had seen something.

“Who is there?” she called.

But he was off, haring up the hill to the garden behind, then racing through that in the direction of The Temple and Round Pond. She had seen him, of that much he was certain, but whether she had recognised him was a different matter. At least she had been too frightened to come in pursuit. Glancing over his shoulder, the Apothecary slowed his pace.

It was so cold that the Pond had frozen over and John looked with pity at the huddles of ducks and two solitary swans sleeping disconsolately on the shore. Suddenly he began to miss Rose, longing to show her sights like these, longing not to miss much more of her growing up. Determined that before the end of the week he would unmask the cruel murderer, John turned back to Gunnersbury House and the thought of a comfortable bed.

He rose at six o’clock and having washed and dressed made his way back to the Grotto. It was one of those misty mornings with a heavy frost, the sun blood-red behind the vapour. Determined to try and find what it was Lady Theydon had sought so frantically the night before, John entered the place of death and looked round him.

The torch in the wall-bracket had long since gone out and the place had a desolate air, the early morning light barely filling its corners. Not having an idea what it was he sought, the Apothecary began to repeat the search of the previous night. The walls revealed nothing except the bloodstain he had noticed earlier, so somewhat reluctantly the Apothecary turned his attention to the basin itself. It was certainly small, the water coming from a cascade, quite artificial, fed by a series of hidden pipes. Gingerly putting his hand in, John withdrew it again rapidly. It was freezing and only a fanatic would bathe in it of their own free will. Wondering whether Amelia organised a string of maids with boiling kettles to heat it up, John was just about to give up when he noticed something sparkle at the bottom of the basin. Hoicking up the sleeves of the Prince of Mecklenburg’s stout cape, John put his arm into the icy water and pulled out an earring.

It was quite small, fashioned round a central stone, probably a topaz. Holding it up to what light there was, the Apothecary could see that it sparkled sufficiently to tell him that it was not cheap and had been made for a lady of quality. Which gives me the choice of any woman in the house, he thought. Sighing a little, he slipped it into his pocket and went out again.

Breakfast was served at eight o’clock and John, making his way to the morning room, found himself following in the wake of the Ladies Kemp and Featherstonehaugh. Reminded vividly of his first visit to the house and his journey up the stairs when they had introduced themselves, he made sure that his eye-patch was in position before he spoke.

“Good morning, ladies.”

They turned and bobbed curtseys simultaneously. “Good morning, Colonel Melville.”

“Did you sleep well?” John asked, bowing.

“Very,” said Lady Kemp but Lady Featherstonehaugh answered, “No, I did not. Couldn’t get off for all that infernal whispering.”

“Whispering, dear?” enquired Lady Kemp.

“Yes, wretched racket. In the corridor, outside my room. Went on for ages. In the end I rose from my bed and went to remonstrate with them. But it was too late, they had gone.”

“Who was it? Do you have any idea?”

“I thought at first it was Madam Hampshire with one of her pretty young fellows. But the voices didn’t seem right somehow. Anyway, there’s no point in discussing it now. Whoever it was escaped without me seeing them.”

John bowed the ladies in to place at the table, seeing somewhat to his surprise that the three of them were alone.

“I wonder where the others are,” he ventured.

“The doctor has gone riding, young Naill is still abed. As for the other ladies I expect they will join us shortly.”

So this was to be his opportunity. With what he hoped was a winning smile, the Apothecary addressed them both.

“Tell me, ladies, what was the most frightening experience of your lives?”

Lady Kemp answered straight away. “Oh without doubt it was the murder of that young woman last Christmas. I shall never forget the sight of her, bleeding to death, her husband holding her in his arms. He looked so wild, poor thing.”

“Why do you say that?” John asked involuntarily. Fortunately she misunderstood his meaning and said, “Because it was so terrifying. I can remember the day distinctly. We were all so excited about the masque. The cast had already arrived from London and I must say that I was quite taken with Michael O’Callaghan. Such a lovely voice, don’t you know. Anyway, I congratulated Priscilla on finding him but she said she had known of him for some while.”

“Get to the point, my dear.” This from Lady Featherstonehaugh.

“I am doing so,” Lady Kemp replied with dignity. “As I was saying, that husband of the dead girl came through the most terrible weather to be here. Quite frankly it was a miracle that he arrived. Anyway, he must have followed her into the woods and killed her because that is where we found him. But it struck me as odd at the time that he should have done such a thing in so public a place. I mean, why not murder her at home?”

Lady Featherstonehaugh snorted. “They presumably had an argument and he hit out at her in a rage.”

“Well, despite what you say, I did not think him guilty. I think he found her body and stayed with it, grief-stricken.”

“Tell me,” said John, hoping he did not sound too inquisitorial, “did you step out for some air after the masque?”

Lady Kemp turned on him a puzzled face. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

“But you did, my dear,” boomed Lady Featherstonehaugh. “I distinctly remember you excusing yourself and leaving the room.” She turned to look at John. “I, too, took a turn round the Round Pond, very briefly because of the inclement weather. Do you know I glimpsed a man relieving himself behind a tree. Most unseemly.”

“Indeed,” echoed Lady Kemp. “Who was it?”

“I’m not sure, I averted my eyes immediately. But I rather think it was Mr. O’Callaghan.”

Lady Kemp blushed. “I expect he was in a hurry to return.”

“I can’t think why. The performance had reached its end. Why could he not go to the closet like everyone else?”

“Perhaps it was occupied,” said John seriously.

So both the ladies had left the house as had Michael. That meant all three could have hastened into the woods, wearing a red cloak, and killed Emilia. But why — if Priscilla was correct and it was her they were really seeking — did they do it? John felt that a frank talk with that young woman was long overdue.