Death in the West Wind (22 page)

“Oh dear,” said the Apothecary, all of a twitter., “I do hope I can find her. Tell me, Joe, was she very annoyed?”

“Somewhat put out.”

“Exactly who did she say she was going to call on?”

“Sir Clovelly Lovell, Gerald Fitz, possibly Miss Clive.”

John groaned audibly and several of the other passengers stared.

“Come now, Sir,” said Joe genially. “Let us not waste time worrying. I have much to report to you.” And the clerk described how the rest of last night’s meeting had gone, ending with, “Dick Ham told me you found a small piece of white material close to the figurehead. Do you by any chance have it about your person?”

John looked apologetic. “I left it in my room. I meant to give it you but it grew late and I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“I shall examine it this evening when, by the way, I have the redoubtable quay master to interview regarding his presence in Milk Street on the day Juliana vanished.”

“Tobias Wills thinks he did it. Says the old man never got over his attachment to the girl and was still in pursuit of her.”

“Does he now?”

“Yes. By the way, how is Jan van Guylder? Have you any news?”

“He will live, poor soul, for what his life’s worth. Richard and Juliana are to be buried side by side day after tomorrow. Apparently all work will cease on the quay as a mark of respect. But how the poor father will be strong enough to attend I cannot imagine.”

“Has he any family to support him?”

“No, they are all in Holland and travelling is difficult because of the war.”

“The French won’t maraud a ship flying the Netherlands flag.”

“Perhaps some of them will get here in time,” Joe answered. He changed the subject. “Tell me your adventures, Sir.”

John proceeded to do so, leaving out nothing except that one unforgettable kiss which, he knew for sure, it was imperative he forget. Joe looked thoughtful. “Is there any way in which this woman could be connected with Juliana’s murder?”

“I can’t think of one.”

“Unless …”Joe looked even more thoughtful. “ … she saw something. You say she wanders around the wild heath and has made herself a hideaway up at the deserted house, then she may well have noticed some unusual occurence on the day the girl was killed.”

“Would you like to call on her?” said John hopefully.

“No, Sir, as you have made contact with her, I think it should be you.”

Inwardly the Apothecary cringed though just a little cold current somewhere was secretly pleased.

The coach rumbled through the South Gate and dropped its first load of passengers at the White Hart Inn, while a few more, bound for the city centre, got on. And it was then, just as they were approaching High Street that John, still on the roof and staring down into the street, saw him. A negro in scarlet livery was strutting along, head in air and whistling a tune.

“Look,” said John, nudging Joe in the ribs. “That’s our man, Sir.”

“Well, I’m going after him. Please,” he shouted to the coachman, just below them on his box, “can you let me out. I’ve just seen someone I know.”

As luck would have it they were travelling at snail’s pace behind a slow-moving cart and the Apothecary, with a great deal of assistance from Joe, managed to scramble past the driver and literally drop into the street. However, all this took a few minutes and by the time he had gained the cobbles and looked round, the negro had vanished. Hurrying onwards, John caught a glimpse of scarlet coat and broke into a run.

Hearing footsteps behind him, the negro looked over his shoulder. His eyes widened in panic at the sight of someone pursuing him and he started to lope along the street like a gazelle. Determined to catch him up, John ran all the faster. But there he made a mistake. With his lithe powerful limbs, the negro sped out of sight, leaving the Apothecary puffing and panting and feeling rather foolish as he mopped his brow and fought to get his breath back. Yet there was nothing for it. He had lost his quarry and now had the double task of finding both Joe and Emilia and probably ending up locating neither.

He had run so far that he had almost arrived at the West Gate and there, appropriately enough, John spied a tavern named The Blackamore’s Head. Desperately in need of a jug of ale, the Apothecary stepped inside, thinking he would sit quietly and plan his next move. Taking a seat at the nearest table he suddenly realised that from a gloomy corner a large pair of eyes were staring at him. The negro was already in there ahead of him.

The servant made to run but this time John was too quick for him. Grabbing him by the arm, he said, “Don’t be afraid. I only want to talk to you about Miss Juliana.”

The negro gaped at him, clearly terrified. “I’m not going to hurt you,” John said soothingly. “In fact, I’ve got money for you — “ He took a few coins from his pocket with his spare hand. “ — if you just tell me about the day you met her off the coach and carried her bags to her lodging house. Do you remember that?” He clinked the coins encouragingly.

The negro, who was probably aged about nineteen or twenty, John thought, cleared his throat. “Yes, Master.”

“You needn’t call me that. My name is Rawlings.”

“Yes, Master Rawlings.”

The Apothecary gave up. “And what is your name?”

“They call me Daniel, Master.”

“And you work for Lord Hood I believe.”
 

Daniel rolled his eyes wildly. “Please, Master, don’t tell him you found me here. He knows that I sometimes go to the inns but today I am running an urgent errand.”

John smiled to himself. “I shall say nothing, besides, I am not of Lord Hood’s acquaintance. You have nothing to fear from me. Now, tell me about that day. You met Miss Juliana off the coach and her brother handed her into your care. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Master.”

“So where did you go?”

“To Milk Street, where she was to lodge until her wedding.”

John’s jug of ale almost fell from his grip and he stared at the negro in blank amazement.

“Did you say wedding?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Who was to be the happy bridegroom? Do you know?”

A look of cunning spread across Daniel’s features and he answered nonchalantly. “Oh, yes Master.”

John produced a couple of coins and put them down on the table. Daniel scratched his wiry head. “Now, let me see … “

The Apothecary doubled the amount. “Now, that’s all you’re getting. I can find out some other way.”

“I remember now,” the negro said with a grin. “It was old Master Digby-Duckworth.”

“Who?”

“Old Sir Bartholomew Digby-Duckworth.”

“I don’t know who he is. Tell me about him.”

“Why, Master, he is a big banker. His bank started long ago with his grandfather. Lord Hood say that Sir Bartholomew is one of the richest men in Devon.”

“And Miss Juliana was going to marry him?”

“Oh yes, Master. They were betrothed.”

So what price Tobias Wills? thought the Apothecary. And this idea was followed by the notion that if ever a girl was asking to be murdered it was most certainly Juliana van Guylder.

“You say you took her to Milk Street. What number was it?”

Daniel scratched his head again. “Now let me see … “

John produced another coin and the negro grinned broadly. “Oh yes, I recall. It was number three.”

“Two more questions.

“Yes, Master?”

“Where does Sir Bartholomew live? And did you see Miss Juliana again after that day?”

“He lives in a big house near Long Brook Street by the castle. And I never saw her again, Master.” Daniel’s eyes rolled once more. “She’s dead, ain’t she, Master?” John nodded. “It’s the talk of the town that she was murdered. Guess Gerald must have done that.”

“Gerald Fitz? How do you know him?”

“Everyone knows me,” the negro answered, sticking out his chest. “I’m the best black in Exeter.”

“How many of you are there?”

Daniel looked very slightly shame-faced. “Only four. But I’m still the best. Anyway, I call at all the great houses and Gerald Fitz and his friends like me. I play dice with them.”

“Do you now. So tell me, why should Gerald kill Juliana?”

Daniel clapped his hand over his mouth and rolled his eyes spectacularly. “I can’t say no more. But it’s what my mistress call “Green Eye”.

“Jealousy? He was jealous of Sir Bartholomew?”

The negro shook his head and got to his feet. “I said enough, Sir. Good day to you.” And he had scooped up the money and gone out through the door in one supple, effortless move. Signalling to the girl to refill his jug, John sat in silence, pondering this latest extraordinary development. So who was the father of the child Juliana had been carrying? Tobias Wills, Gerald Fitz, Thomas Northmore or old Sir Bartholomew? Or none of them? Still much preoccupied, the Apothecary left the tavern and headed back in the direction of The Close and the home of Sir Clovelly Lovell.

12

I
t appeared that not only was Sir Clovelly Lovell at home but that he was more than anxious to receive. He came bustling out of his library, smiling and nodding and greeting his visitor as if he were a long lost relative.

“Ah my dear young friend, how very pleasant to see you. You are here in search of your wife no doubt. Pretty little thing, what what? Well, she and Lady Lovell have gone to shop and then to see the play. Which gives us much free time, dear chap, much free time. They asked me to accompany them but I refused. Can’t stand the playhouse. Always go to sleep, damme. Anyway, what say you that we go to see the sights and then to dine? Always enjoy a little night life in the company of another male. And being able to eat what I like without the womenfolk butting in.”

John smiled encouragingly. “An excellent plan, my dear Sir Clovelly. But meanwhile I have a favour to ask you in connection with a matter that we have discussed once before.” Instantly the jolly water rat eyes were full of perception. “Are you referring to the death of that unfortunate van Guylder girl?”

“Yes, Sir, I am.”

“Do you want to see Fitz again?”

“Him and another, Sir Clovelly, I had the most preposterous conversation today which I would very much like to repeat to you.”

“Then step into my library, my boy, and we’ll discuss it over a bumper or two. A most valuable asset when it comes to sharpening the brain. Or so I’ve always found.”

Not quite certain that it would have the same effect on him, having breakfasted hours earlier and hurriedly at that, John sipped at his glass as he told his host, who listened in total silence, not only the story of his meeting with Daniel but also about Juliana’s connection with Tobias Wills and Thomas Northmore.

Eventually Sir Clovelly nodded. “It is becoming quite obvious to me that the girl was little better than a doll common.”

“Reluctant though I am to admit it for the sake of her father, I think you are right, Sir.”

“And you say that her brother shot himself and that one of Mr. Fielding’s men believes it was he who killed his own sister?”

John sighed. “Yes.”

“Do you?”

“No, I don’t. There were the marks of at least two assailants on her. But it seems to me she could have made so many enemies, had so many different men on a string, that any two of them might have conspired together to bring about her end.”

Sir Clovelly looked thoughtful. “I wonder.”

“What, Sir?”

“About old Sir Barty. He wouldn’t take too kindly to his honour being impugned.”

“Could you tell me something about him.”

“Known him for years. Nice chap. Rich as Croesus, part of the banking family of course. He’s retired from business affairs now, though. His son runs the bank and, in time, his grandson will take over I suppose, though I can’t say I’d trust him with my money, empty-headed young fool.”

“Sir Barty’s a widower, I take it.”

“Heavens yes. Edith died years ago. He never seemed to be very interested in women after that but obviously this young doxy has wormed her way in.”

“How old is he?”

“Seventy-eight.”

“And she eighteen. What a situation.”

Sir Clovelly shook his head knowingly, his plump cheeks swaying very slightly. “Men with money can buy almost anything. He has bought youth and beauty to warm his bed at night.”

“Do you think he is still potent? Could he possibly be the father of her child?”

The older man looked dubious. “You are an apothecary, you should know more about that than I. No, my guess is that someone else has done the deed but that she will foist the infant on to him, much to the old fellow’s eternal delight.”

“That will cause ructions within the family.”

“Won’t it indeed.” Sir Clovelly sank a bumper. “What say you John that we stroll in that direction and call on the old fellow? Lady Lovell never stops telling me that I need to take more exercise.”

“Won’t he be in mourning?”

“Privately perhaps but publicly my guess is no. I imagine that the fact of his forthcoming nuptials was shrouded in secrecy. They were probably quietly going to one of those churches where the officiant asks no questions.”