Death in the Setting Sun (35 page)

“Do you mean Lady Georgiana was having an affair with him?”

“I’m afraid, Sir, that I do.”

The physician assumed an expression which John interpreted as “it is impossible to shock a doctor”. In any other circumstances he would have found it amusing but tonight even his cynical sense of humour was stretched to its limit. There was a momentary silence interrupted by a discreet knock on the door. “Come in,” called Dr. Phipps.

A footman entered the room with a letter on a tray. “This came by express messenger for Mr. Rawlings.” The Apothecary stared. “Who can it be from?”

But as soon as he cast his eyes on the paper he knew the writing. The letter was from Joe Jago.

It simply said:

Honoured friend,

I can say Little except Please Watch the Grotto without Cease. I Think All Will be Revealed there.

Remain Vigilant.

Your most sensibly Obliged and Humble servant.

The signature J. Jago was written with a flourish and the address at the top of the note was given as The Red Lion, Brentford. John reread it with a rise in his spirits. If his interpretation was correct then the arrest of Georgiana had been a ploy and the killer was indeed still at large.

His thoughts roamed over the suspects. The Princess herself could not be excluded though he found it really hard to credit that such a plump woman could have leapt nimbly through the trees wearing a red cloak or fought Lord Hope in the Grotto. Still, stranger things than that had happened and she could not be ruled out. Then came Lady Hampshire with her penchant for much younger men. Had her desire to obtain jewels that sparkled led her to kill for them? If she had mistaken Emilia for Priscilla could it have been for something that Priscilla had worn? Similarly with Lord Hope who had flaunted rings and snuff-boxes and brooches.

His thoughts turned to those two strange women, namely Ladies Featherstonehaugh and Kemp. What was it they got up to in their private time? Could it be that they worked together as murderers, one giving the other an alibi? He ran this idea over in his mind and found a great deal to recommend it.

Finally he came to Priscilla who was, he felt certain, growing extremely fond of him. The trouble with her was that she lacked motive. Why should she kill an old friend and why on earth kill Lord Hope? Lady Theydon had clearly been done away with because she had refused to give the murderer any further assistance. But the other two? John mentally discounted Miss Fleming for having no reason to kill.

This left him with the enigmatical Michael O’Callaghan. The Irishman had confessed to the murders but surely only to defend Lady Georgiana Hope. But could this have been a bluff, a bluff which had fooled John completely. Well, almost completely. Though he had included the actor in his plan to find the murderer, he had not told him everything.

“Was it good news or bad?” asked Dr. Phipps.

John dragged himself back to reality. “Neither, really.” He glanced at the handsome watch that Sir Gabriel had given him for his twenty-first birthday. “Um, it’s just gone eight. I think if you’ll excuse me that I might go for a stroll.”

The doctor downed his port. “Do you mind if I join you? I could do with some fresh air.”

Wanting desperately to be alone, John replied, “It’s still very cold, Sir.”

“Oh that doesn’t worry me,” the physician answered heartily. “I always wrap up well.”

There was no help for it, the two of them fetched their outdoor garments and marched out into the February night, John thinking that he would take a brief walk and return later. But for all that he found himself heading in the direction of the Grotto, the doctor striding along beside him.

Spring was definitely on its way, the bitterness of January a thing of the past. But it was still chilly and the Apothecary felt himself shiver as they approached the building in which the Grotto was situated.

“Do you remember last time we were here?” John asked.

Dr. Phipps turned on him a bleak look. “Only too clearly. What a terrible expression Lord Hope had on his face.”

Recalling those white features and the mauvish blue lips drawn back in the travesty of a grin, John shuddered again. “Poor fellow. He must have been detested to have merited such an end as that.”

“That, or simply in the way,” the doctor answered.

Though he was longing to take a look inside, armed as he was with a lanthorn, the Apothecary forbore. However he did linger a moment to see if he could hear anyone within. But there was nothing except silence and he and Dr. Phipps continued on and past, down into the parkland beyond.

They returned an hour later to find that the card party had broken up, Princess Amelia leading the way through a bowing line of her fellow players. Seeing John, she bore down on him while he bowed low, wondering all the while what she wanted.

“Mr. Rawlings, a vord viz you, if you please.”

“Certainly, Ma’am.”

So for the second time that day he found himself in her private sanctum, alone except for the usual handful of footmen.

“I will come straight to the point,” she said as soon as she was seated.

John carefully perched on the edge of the sofa opposite and smiled politely.

“I think you should consider remarrying,” she said. “Now that an arrest has been made and the investigation concluded it is time you thought of yourself.”

“But, Your Highness, it is only two months since my wife died.”

“You should regard your child, Mr. Rawlings. You cannot leave her motherless.”

Wondering how the elderly lady knew about Rose, John answered, “I am sure that my father and I can bring her up satisfactorily.”

“Well, I beg to differ. A little maiden needs a woman’s touch. Now may I suggest to you Miss Fleming. The poor girl cannot stay on in my household and I think it would be an ideal solution.”

John thought how marvellous it must be to give orders and have them obeyed instantly, and reckoned it must be the habit of royalty’s lifetime to do so. He further reckoned that to refuse point blank would place him in trouble. He gave an evasive answer.

“Madam, I will bear what you say in mind. Of course the welfare of my child must be paramount.”

“Good. I am glad that you are seeing sense. I know that Priscilla is hoping to speak to you. I suggest you propose.”

And if ever, the Apothecary thought, I should propose to anyone again it could only be Elizabeth. However, he smiled and nodded and wished desperately that he were away from Gunnersbury House with its intrigues and lies.

Bowing his way out, rather magnificently, he found that most of the household had retired to bed, exhausted by recent events no doubt. But just as he was making his way towards the great staircase he saw that Priscilla was indeed hovering nervously, looking very sweet in a pale blue open robe. He went to her and kissed her hand and she gave him a nervous smile.

“Oh, John, my dear, I do apologise for the Princess.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “She is such a foolish old romantic and heaven alone knows what she has been saying.”

“Well . . “

“Do you know,” Priscilla rushed on, “that King Frederick of Prussia, while he was still Crown Prince of course, was madly in love with her and that, to this day, she wears his miniature next to her heart.”

“Really?”

“Truly. She intends to keep it there until she dies and then, I dare swear, it will not be removed but will be buried with her. So she is the most devoted of creatures and believes that everyone should be the same.”

“I see.”

Priscilla went very pink. “John, what did she say to you?”

He sighed. “My dear, she suggested that you and I should marry, but . . “

She turned away from him. “I think it is a good idea, John. Only as a business arrangement, of course. You wouldn’t have to pay for a governess for your child and you might grow to love me in time. I am utterly skilled in housewifery and would entertain your friends gladly.

Oh, my dear soul, I do think I would make an excellent wife for you.”

Just for a fleeting second it occurred to John that it might indeed be the answer to all his problems. And then he thought of riding free over the vast expanse of Devon’s wild country with a dark woman by his side, a dark woman who could outride him and outshoot him if necessary, and he knew the direction he wanted his future to go in.

“Priscilla, it’s too soon for me to make any decision,” he said kindly.

“But why is it?” she persisted. “Surely Rose needs a mother quickly.”

He became aware at that moment that he wanted his daughter to grow up as an extraordinary woman too; a woman who could make her own decisions and be her own person. A woman who would not be as compliant and sweet as poor little Miss Fleming.

“Rose will do well enough with my father for the time being. He will try to make her as good a person as possible.”

Priscilla’s small eyes closed and her face crumpled into tragedy’s mask. She clung to John, collapsing in his arms.

“Oh, why, why? I love you, John. I have for a long time now. Oh please, my darling. As a marriage of convenience only. I know you will grow to love me in time. I know it.”

He forced her to look at him. “Priscilla, no. I could never love you. I still love Emilia. Can’t you understand that?”

“No,” she wept, “I can’t.”

He stood there helplessly, wishing himself anywhere but there, and then he was aware of a presence standing close by and watching him. Elizabeth di Lorenzi had just stepped out of the shadows.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

S
he smiled in the darkness and dropped them a deferential curtsey. “Pardon me, Sir and Madam. I didn’t realise you were there.”

Priscilla rounded on her. “What are you doing above stairs? Your place is in the kitchens.”

“I came to put the candles out, Madam.”

“Surely that is a job for one of the footmen?”

“The footmen are feeling a little unwell, Miss Fleming, after their mill with Michael O’Callaghan. I offered to take on their duties just for this evening.”

“Oh very well. Get on with it then.”

From the shadows John felt the acerbity of Elizabeth’s smile. “Very good, Milady.”

He turned to her. “Thank you, Elizabeth. It was kind of you to step into the breach.”

Priscilla straightened in his arms. “Oh my dear, I am suddenly tired and must be away to bed. Will you escort me to my room?”

“I think I’ll take a turn in the grounds. Perhaps the servant would do so,” he replied most ungallantly.

Elizabeth curtsied. “If Madam would like to come with me.”

Miss Fleming shot them both a defeated glance. She had been manoeuvred into a position where she could do nothing but accept.

“Very well. Lizzie, go ahead with the candelabra. I shall follow immediately.” She turned to John. “Good night, my dear. Promise to think about what I have said.”

“I will. Good night.”

He watched her ascending, thinking how short she looked behind Elizabeth’s long lean body. At the top of the staircase she turned and gave him a tremulous smile and a little wave, then vanished from sight. Glad to be away from her, John donned the Prince’s cape, which hung near the front door, and stepped outside.

Uncomfortable though it was going to be, he intended to watch the Grotto all night. He had sent Michael back home, which was perhaps as well in view of certain ideas that the Apothecary had. So, devoid of assistance, it was up to him to keep vigil. Walking briskly, John found a place behind an all-covering bush and sat down on a cushion which he had brought with him from the house.

He must have dropped off, despite the discomfort, for he was woken by a great deal of giggling — somewhat inebriated, he thought — and the sound of someone falling over. Despite his instinct to go and help, John remained exactly where he was and observed.

A couple of ladies of the night — at least that is what he presumed from their garish ensembles — were staggering across the lawn, arms linked, shooshing one another for laughing so much. Yet as he watched them John could not help but think they looked familiar. He stared closely as the moon came out and recognised, through the mass of face paint, the features of Lady Kemp. Beside her, staggering slightly as she went, minced Lady Featherstonehaugh in outrageously high heels. The Apothecary was so amused that he laughed out loud.

Lady Kemp drew to a halt. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“That noise. It sounded like somebody chuckling.”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“That’s because you’re drunk, you bitch.”

“Bitch yourself! So are you.”

They put their heads together and cackled wildly, then wove their unsteady progress on in the direction of the side door.

So that, thought John, was their guilty secret. In the darkness of night they dressed up as whores and went off, presumably to the rouge route of Brentford, to seek a bit of excitement. Well, good luck to ‘em, unless, of course, they had added murder to their need for thrills. Getting up in order to relieve himself, John thought carefully about the snatched bit of conversation he had overheard but could find nothing in it except some vague reference to seeing something. He decided that next day he would question the two ladies more closely.